Wait

Grass, short and dense,
trimmed by the lawn mower,
watered by the mountain runoff,
in the park where few play.
Cool, the feel under my feet
softly folding down under me,
a swift look up from my phone,
no one there to catch me leaving
my dog's droppings around-I
had no bag.  Couldn't clean up.

Endless music, new phone
provides all I ask for, the
screen my field to walk and
capture the radiation in my eyes.
I in the park as one stands
before an immense wall
marking the places where he can't
climb.  My getaway is a fortress
that I haven't the keys for
nor the will to infiltrate
and so I sit, cool under feet
now loosely folded, and wait.