I am the Charles River

I am the Canadian goose feeding on the grassy knoll
By the bike trail

I am the Guatemalan landscaper blowing leaves
From the blue-blooded estate

I am the golden sun’s glistening reflection
On the face of the river

I am the tufted titmouse nesting in the chestnut tree

I am the 3-D lettering of the
Aspiring graffiti artist

I am the park bench painted black
Old and chipping at the edges

I am the parking lot for office buildings
On Main and Moody

I am the silent breeze pushing the dead leaves
Rattling them to life

I am the engine of the 1:58 train
To Boston as it pulls into Waltham Depot
Pulling several commuter cars

I am the brown grass, dehydrated
Awaiting to be covered in snow

I am the towering red brick watch factory
Where once the industry thrived
Now forgotten to the world
Except for those who seek my past in
The city’s museums

I am the writer on the park bench
Observing the current of the Charles River


Andrew Borne is 2 Cups Poet 1 teaspoon Musician 1/4 teaspoon Salt 1/2 cup Absurdity 3/4 cup Chef 1 egg, beaten 2 1/3 cups Family Man. Mixed together and served raw. His column 7x appears weekly in Oddball Magazine.