Not quite on the sidewalk—in the grass
between asphalt and cement,
you and me.
Me being, of course, an observer,
ambling not errant pedestrian, bystander,
standing for innocence; you, of course,
murderer of the slain.
I chose to walk to save the planet,
to dwell in the pleasance of a June afternooon,
and because I can’t afford a car.
You rejected ambulation in brazen apathy,
comfort at all costs. May your soul rest
like he rests, in the blazing sun.