But It’s Never Like That

If you had to make a life
Out of spare hours in public
Spaces where you knew no one,

Laminate-table fast-food
Joints on empty Saturdays
In interstate exit towns,

Public parks, hikers’ trailheads
Grey days in offseason,
City squares full of tourists,

Well-seasoned with pickpockets
And a pinch or two of cops,
You could and be contented

When the body didn’t throb,
And the mind wasn’t haunted.