Manhattan Pond

With dingy hair and dirty pants,

he sat with his feet on resting oars.

His head bent over a shirtless body,

as he listened to the sounds from the buds in his ears.

And the boat drifted on the Manhattan pond.

Did the long white scar on a hairless stomach

tell tales of a thousand unwanted thoughts?

With arms wrapped around bended knees (to hide the scar? Why wouldn’t he be showing it off?),

his clasped hands looked still but one tapping finger betrayed him.

And the boat drifted on the Manhattan pond.

Bumping other boats as he drifted and shoving off defiantly,

it appeared he wished only to be alone but one tapping finger betrayed him.

Did he seek to be away and rest, but fearing solitude and his own thoughts

listened to the sounds from the buds in his ears?

And the boat drifted on the Manhattan pond.