I left the poem
on a bench in a park. I waited until
no one was looking, then put it down,
got up nonchalantly and walked away.
At a safe distance I kept watch to see
if anyone would pick it up. No one did.
After a while I turned on my heel,
deciding that this particular child’s future
would be best left to my imagination.
I like to think a bereaved mother scooped
him up and put him on a mantelpiece,
or filed him away for safekeeping.
And I like to think he brought a smile,
or at the very least was used as a tissue
to wipe away a tear.
