On a tree in the park
into all its loveliness
like a bloody arm
or a piece of slate
it says
'Shell and Chris'
in the shadow of a branch
a heart underneath.
Further on
in a patch of multicoloured
good times
lie some cans of coke
crisp packets and a condom
wrapper among the sickly hue
of too-green grass and weeds
this high.
A dark cloud hangs full
and ready over the pond
that rang loud with geese
a few hours ago
but has since been still
itself now hanging.
And the newspaper said
in the corner of the page
that a girl of eleven
was raped here
under the arched branches
in the late afternoon sun
and huddled by the bank
shoots among shoots
five geese are closing their eyes.

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