The aroma is hot, people heaped together like the pooling of the water fountain as it sprays on the grass People have set up lawn chairs Mostly elderly people who have time to sit in the park Flies wiggling around them As they listen to a rock band that sways like perplexed grass and sings like the words don't matter and only the guitar, the absolute intricacy of the guitar, is heard I notice Ahead of me an elderly lady Brown hair cut into a blob on her head Lipstick, floral dress Skin that is starting to fold She feels hungry and opens the cooler To display a pre-bought sandwich and a plastic bag She unzips the bag carefully and gingerly takes out a crisp, pressed white napkin Which she doesn't end up needing anyway I can't help thinking that there is irony to this How something as trivial as napkins can point back to generations before When the lady was younger She sat in the glimmering sun in the tall, waving grass A young man sat beside her They laid on the gingham Together As watermelon juice trickled down his chin "Poor you!" she laughed. "I forgot to bring the napkins!" The reality is, she didn't forget There was no mess to be cleaned up There was only youth speckled with love and you would be a fool to miss the opportunity when watermelon stuck frozen to his chin so that when you kissed him you could taste the lingering fruit Years later She's bouncing in the living room with her little girl Brown ringlets, just like her They're eating spaghetti The kind that is doused in a crimson sauce so that when the strands wiggle on her chin it leaves a trail of red "Poor you!" she laughs. "I didn't give you a napkin." The reality is, she didn't forget There was no mess to be cleaned up There were only children speckled with love and you would be a fool to miss the memory of crusted spaghetti sauce and that dimpled smile with holes in her mouth Years later She thinks about the times when she forgot the napkins Thinking she'll be practical this time she swipes a few But she forgets the plastic bag One day she remembers it but she forgets to close it The surprise is a family of ants Now With the music fading and the air electric She knows there is no mess to be cleaned up But she brings out the plastic bag of napkins anyway She holds on to the velvety scrap and breathes It is the one connection to her past life Someone spills something Finally "Poor you!" she laughs. "I forgot the napkins." The reality is, she didn't forget She hides them in her purse - that Mary Poppins of a possession And smiles Because she would be a fool to miss it
Just thought of this while I was in the park listening to a band. I noticed the lady ahead of me take out a bag of plastic napkins. Well, inspiration comes with the oddest things.