Sitting on the park bench
With this emerald carpet unfurled in front of me.
An empty, barren landscape
Waiting to be played on.
Beside me is the ball
Nestling gently like a puppet on the end of my hand.
Controlling how I act
Becoming another imagination.
On my own
As others flood past in ever increasing numbers.
I want to shout
Ask if they want to share this grass with me.
Filled with melancholy on this island off the coast.
Kicking the ball
Could bring them in but maybe I want the space.