The doctor gave me back my knee.
He coughed it up reluctantly
And put his knife back down.
I walked along city blocks with my own cast of characters,
Nodded to policemen without provoking gunfire,
Noted street signs and stayed within their vigilance,
Kept to a straight course, going east to west,
Placed my hands in my pockets, then took them out,
Saw a museum asleep for the night,
The paintings crying
While statues with penises mocked their tears,
Found the park that has always found me.
There on a bench
We talked about old times.
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