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DEERPARK
somehow the yellow of the road
reminds me of the time at the deer park
where we left the car to walk
along the granite-edged kerb
balancing, one-behind-one, in lines,
like funeral cars in traffic.
or at least the slow-moving traffic,
past your window and down your road.
ever-moving, never-changing lines
of cars, edging to their park,
finding home in a slot by the kerb
where their souls turn out to walk,
as the grizzled brown deer walk,
one-behind-one, like cars in traffic
or skip fleeting across our kerb
as we balance at the edge of the road
through the lush autumn brown-green park.
we, and the deer, intersect lines,
criss-cross and mix our lines.
they flash across as we edge-walk,
never stopping to find our place to park,
instead, our one-behind-one traffic
trudges quiet, resolute on its road,
balancing precarious on the kerb.
unwilling to stop, following the kerb,
the influence of ordered lines,
bordering the empty road,
never built for feet to walk
but to bring the lines of traffic
through the deer to the house to park,
now an empty car park in a deer park,
as, one-behind-one, along the kerb,
a solitary twosome of traffic,
we travel houseward in rigid lines
ignoring green pastures where walk
and run would be safer than our road.
but now our deer park is captured in lines
where there is no kerb and we will never walk
again like traffic down any other road.
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