Afternoon Meander

Fake, flowery scents floating in the frozen air
I walk on by, my shoes skidding
Spritz of slush onto the dying grass
Travelers heading home, their miles
Outranking those of any pilot
Go heard, but unseen
My face is forward. I walk on by.

Small karats spilling across forgotten footfalls
Pools of shimmering, shining misapprehension
That will come and then will go
And they'll still be here, staring blankly
Into vague tricks and traps of reflection
Of ignorant comprehension
Beneath sensible words. I walk on by.

There may have been sound, perhaps not
I walk on by, not knowing either way
I will not turn my head to see the sidewalk
Sprawling behind me. I will not regress
And when the road, the path, the trail
Finally comes to its inevitable end
No lost hopes, no forgotten sorrows left
The memories will be forever engraved
In shallow concrete and fake, flowery, floating scents
That swirl and tumble and twist and whirl
Around the next who walks on by.