I Saw Walt Whitman in Wright Park
       

proselytizing to the crows who were
ranting back. He threw some bread crumbs
on the pond and said:
"Here, this is for humanity.
I keep it along with my freezer jam
We have so little to eat."

His one good ear was tuned
in to the robins and with his ear trumpet
he expounded on the Song of Man,
although his words rang hollow
to the Flicker, who was tapping out his
Morse Code above the car alarms.

His claims of sovereignty
over the earth fell on the deaf ears
of the moles who were busy kicking
up dirt and the squirrels seemed largely
to ignore him, sniffing out nuts and running
back and forth like demented poets.

When I left I could still hear his
cries of brotherhood for ants, as the dragonflies
buzzed around the crown of his white hairlike
a halo above a swamp fire. "All grass
clippings are the same!" I heard him say.

And as the police hauled him away
with his piece of cardboard and sleeping bag,
still feeding the pigeons, he screamed to beast and fowl:
"A park is a Democracy!" —which got the attention
of the geese, who honked profusely with thanks!

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Copyright © 2018 Michael Magee All rights reserved
from How We Move Toward Light
MoonPath Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission