An Abandoned Waterpark

by A.M. Broadous
September 2022

Authorities call it trespassing,
but I call it paying my respects


under snakes of sun-bleached plastic.
The only way to consecrate this


gouged AstroTurf is to recall what
it once was—fields of green around


a white pool with yellow inner tubes.
Now the river is truly lazy, a tattooed


ditch chasing itself with brown silt
and ghosts of chlorophyll.


In these ruins, every measure of time 
abandons its hope for healing


something not worth saving.
Poets with spray cans fool themselves


by thinking they can write the rhetoric
that this is not a graveyard for colors


but a place where everything dries
and flows as fast as our falling tears.