New Poem by Whitni Roche:
Riff-raff in the Park
While riding around the lake
I take in what I see and pass by
a homeless guy—stopping to share.
I watch him tear some bread for geese--
His fight for peace begins here.
I fear those geese as tall as my waist,
trying to taste anything that moves.
What would improve this urban retreat?
A smoother street? Less geese? No riff-raff with bread?
Instead—we steer our bikes away from cars;
This park is ours even if built with others in mind
a fancier kind—the public deed
favors the need of people like him,
as well as the whim of people like me.
Parks are free for the riff-raff.
I am the riff-raff.