Bunhill Fields
A sweep of green in midday heat, fenced in
by maple leaves, lustrous and lobed with bees
foraging in the soft folds of their trees.
Daffodils offer relief from the din
of skylined streets, ushering in a spin
of office employees. Navy suits squeeze
into feeble seats as greedy hands tease
toasted paninis from papery skin.
All around lie graves, for the pocket park
is a cemetery. Faded headstones loom
like a frieze of history, brave priests and
prized bards at rest beneath their granite dark.
Calmly waiting for the white-collar boom
to retreat back into glassy wasteland.
