Dystopia

Alec Solomita

The summer bike path, dapple and green.
A biker frightens an ancient couple,
not with speed but a warning
(‘On your left!’). Baggy boys
saunter indolently, waiting for dark.
Vaguely bovine young women herd
daily-abandoned four-year-olds
by the dozen – same green shirts, same
chubby knees, tied together with
ribbon, bewildered, blinking in the
sunny spaces between the big leaves.
And, O! the runners: Flushed dismal
Lolitas, nether cheeks exposed in shorts
labeled ‘Pink.’ Starving gray Furies
grimly huffing into the foul air.
And the dogs. O, the dogs! Many
tiny, these days, and white. And their
walkers, each with his own plastic bag.

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