Camden Promenading

She walks more slowly
and lacks a certain purpose.
No need to enquire, as an answer exists.

Rendered by age and inactivity;
brittle of bone and leeched-out.
Aging is difficult to bear.

Sipping black coffee.
In a place haunted by
the ghosts of cornered animals.

Watching the promenade of youth.
In the sun; all knowing
and unknowing.

Supple skins,
unmarked by destiny.
New owners of this road.

And these people
who stare at their machines.
Light reflected on their faces.

The world moves on,
and we stay on it.
At the periphery of the parade.

A foot in the present,
another in the past.
Seeing things as they are and as they were.


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