Sit in the folding chair
Lake lapping close by, but unseen
What you can see is . . . couples
Couples everywhere
Embracing in full sun
Walking hand in hand
Or closer — arms wrapped round each other's waists
despite the sultry heat
Some young, some old, some ancient
All somehow just the same
In summer love, soft steamy air, warm glow
Grass sparse, burnt mostly brown
Birds coupled too — geese marching, matching
dark crows that hop in pairs
lovestruck golden butterflies as well
that court and dance and soar in twos
Here you sit, statue still, in tight black folding chair
His folding chair, bought when you first picnicked here
He didn't like to sit down on hard ground
Dead now exactly seven years this bright gold day
Last week you saw the chair, forgotten in dark corner until then
Seemed needed, right
to drag it out once more
as death day loomed up near
And now you sit in it alone
Picnic alone
as you do everything, alone
You know how now
You want to raise your glass
Salute lost love — at least, you planned it
planned to toast . . . and so you do
Feels angry/icy/dark
despite the warm bright light
Glass in hand you watch on, all alone
(of course alone, what else?)
Watch people
So very many coupled people
Some laughing joyous
All smiling sweet
All living lively love
