Even when no people are present
Walking on a boardwalk
Gives the feeling of existing
In civilization.
Walking along the elongated hole,
Slicing and cutting through
Alligator weed, privet and cattails,
You know
Some intrepid laborer-
An immigrant, a prisoner,
An immigrant prisoner,
A prisoner of immigrants
(Since I doubt many Native Americans
Serve on the Labor Division of the Board of Corrections)
Mowed down the pushy plants
So another intrepid laborer
Could dig the holes
For yet another intrepid laborer
To install the posts
So that even more intrepid laborers
Could hammer in the boards.
This ain’t the Drifters boardwalk
Down by the Seeeea.
This boardwalk lacks
The crass commercialism
Of the Coney Island boardwalk-
No hyperbolic hot dog-eating contests
Or settings for some of the best B movies.
It also lacks the pretentiousness
Of the Monopoly™ Boardwalk
Because the rent is free
(Unless you book the veranda for a birthday party).
On this boardwalk,
Studious lesbians,
Geeky joggers,
Amiable senior citizens
And bilingual bird watchers
Come to enjoy their leisure time.
This is the boardwalk where
Out-of-work, self-declared “artists”-
Neither spiritual nor religious,
Living alone,
Enduring isolation,
Come to refute the Existentialists
And look at happy dogs.
Brian's Blog 