Statue in the Park

I run past it, and never stop or look, every morning.
From what I can see, it is made of three iron beams.
In some ways it resembles a human: twisted, unidentifiable.
The muscles, if there are muscles, are lean, enviable.
Today, water pooled in two of the joints.

I’ve heard strangers in the bistro say into their telephone
“Meet me at the statue at nine.
From there we will share a cab to the playhouse.”
“Meet me at the statue under the cover of night.
Wear a backwards cap and bring cash.”
Homeless found dead under the statue at dawn.
Their bodies zipped like the hooker’s
purse at the end of her shift.
Men meeting with men, tangled like iron.

Nearby, a woman, found beaten, insists
she will never press charges.
Birds flip rudely in their water.
A man, like me, slows as he runs.
He nearly trips on a park bench but does not.
A sad bush brings forth another sad puff of leaves.

Brendan Todt