Love in the Park

Love in the Park

He loves me,
and I know that when he
drops deep on his knees,
one hand hidden in the felted grass,
the other on me
nursing my as yet, un-conceived baby boy
who is nothing but a fleck of a fir tree,
nothing but the pigment of some paint
that someone used to get us.

We could be brother and sister,
except for my grey eye and his yellow.
I wear an orange dress to match him,
since imitation is the most sincere form of flattery

apart from the flowers glowering
in my hand,
which tell me nothing
except, how to love
red, blue
and eventually brown.

I hold pieces of fruit in my mouth
but at some point I have to chew,
as sure as smooth stones breaking on a beach somewhere
I will swallow and digest
and excrete.

I wonder, will he be a bruise,
a shadow on my scalp,
or a thin lipped smile
that I give another lover
whilst looking at pairs of fir trees.