We can meet where the dandelions
push up
through the concrete — denying
any pretense
of their prevention — and pretend
we are walking
hills and meadows with grass
between our toes.

We will drink from the fountains
next to the restrooms
in the park,
and convince ourselves
it tastes
of clear mountain streams.

When night falls we will
hide in the alley,
our own hidden haven
beneath the old willow,
instead of gun shots and sirens
we will hear crickets, frogs
and the sound
of rustling branches.

In the morning I will give
half of the apple
I found, believing
it to be freshly fallen
from the orchard
tree. And you

can pretend,
for at least one more day,
that I am the prince
you have always
to find.



Filed under Poetry

4 responses to “Pretending

  1. A gorgeous fantasy, which makes me so glad I don’t live in a city!

  2. Hope she’s as much of a poet as he is.
    A great story, Mark.

  3. This was a fantastic read! Loved the story, the scenes created and everything. The end was just phenomenal

  4. Great read…I loved the beautifully done… 🙂

Some of what I write is true, some is fiction; most is merely possibility.

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