The LADY in the GARDEN

On a picture-post-card date near the swirling
Serpentine sway of the wide Schuylkill River
Meandering through Central Philly's park garden,

Towered over by leaning elms, while 3 long canoes
Swift by to the paddling of Ivy League rowers.
Gazing at my dear partner in this verdant garden;

My Friendly girl, Karen--ebony caped-round
In waist-length hair like a swaying black cloak--
She's an aspiring concert violinist and rights activist;

Vivid in her red chambray shirt and Levis, she
Converses intensely of King's D.C. March in 3 weeks,
Me listening intently to my companion in the garden.

I, the drafted conscientious objector, work for Uncle Sam
With forsaken kids confined to sterile mental wards,
Disturbed by parents' wrong living; but still am

So youthfully focused on my comely girlfriend’s
Figured shape more than humanity’s ship of state.
A warm date with my dear companion in the garden.

We sit cross-legged on a wide lush parkway green,
Getting ready to munch our carefully bagged meal
Of 2 peanut butter and grape sandwiches,

Yet we discuss war’s ravages in far-off Nam
And Bob Dylan's 'hard rained' croons.
Loving my dear concerned friend in the garden

But then I inhale a fuming putrid odor;
Twist my neck and see this bagged lady in a filthy rag
Of a dress lunging slowly forward, hanging

Onto her trashy mesh of a shopping bag, her rancid
Stench to high heaven wafts, and I pinch my nose;
Turn back to Karen, not this intruder in the garden.

But lo and hold--my violinist, instead, rises
And welcomes the old hag, “Hi Lady, will you join us
For our little Sunday snack here in the warm sun?”

The homeless stranger sprawls haggardly on our grass,
Her grimy shift wrinkling on her scraggly legs.
Karen gazes warmly at this unknown one in the garden

I'm all upside-down in my face as this invader,
Reaches out her grubby hand to our blanket,
Grabs one of our 2 sandwiches, and half crams

It in her narrow jaws, chews open-mouthed and teethed,
While I fume, separated from my date
By this chomping vagrant in our parked garden.

But then I awake, remembering almost too late,
The very deep story about the least of these; I turn,
And finally join my dear musician's caring psalm,

We now communing 3 of human kind,
Under these verdant swaying trees of warmth.
Sharing friends,--in this present park garden.


--Dan Wilcox

First pub. in The Oak Bend Review
in different form;
in Selah River, a collection of Daniel's
published poetry,
And before, in Dark Energy, a book of poems by Daniel
published by Diminuendo Press


In the LIGHT,

Dan Wilcox