is this what has become of you?
over a century of songs, editing,
changing the leaves of your grass
and now i see you singing them on a scooter
gliding in the park down dark pavement—
i thought you were stronger than that.
i thought you were too bearded
and rustic to ride a scooter in suburbia.
walt, where are you going on that scooter?
i saw you blazing down a street-hill
like a prarie wildfire. have you lost your mind
or have you set yourself free? what is the truth then?
i saw you waiting for the bus with your scooter
folded in your lap. the aluminium is striking.
i saw you buy that scooter from a clean shaven
vendor. his name was henry, and when he handed
you the change i heard you say “thanks thoreau.”
too bearded for aluminum, blazing
down a suburban-hill, clacking out leaves
of grass on pavement.