Lunch in Kennedy Park

by | Aug 11, 2020 | Issue Sixteen, Poetry

My wife and I find a table

Under a tree whose branches

And leaves are fulsome enough

To provide us with protection

From the rays of the summer’s sun.

Delicately we unwrap our burgers

As if they might crumble before

Our eyes if we weren’t so careful.

Reaching for the French fries I hear

The voice again, a little ancient now:

“Ask not what your country can do

For you…” and I do remember

When the country seemed young

And vigorous, charm alone able

To gloss over the undeniable defects.

A rower on the Charles disappears

From my sight, the water displaying

Not the smallest hint of agitation.

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