Parc de l'Escorxador, by Brian A. Salmons

Dona I Ocell, by Joan Miro (Spain) 1983. photo by PierreSelim, CC BY 3.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

Parc de l'Escorxador

The bulls are happy in Barcelona and you too seem happy
feeding the old culvert bird, brightly feathered,
shining in our sun. Your misplaced meatus eye
watches shoppers in the bullring, doubting nothing.
Everything's vale. Even the grass will green again
when the drought ends and it will end, won't it?
My son takes a stab at your name: the grappling hook?
El gancho de agarre. A clear appeal to climb you,
hand over dry, hot tile until the disappointing banana
points him toward the vast hours of fun ceded to history
and architecture, the oppressive heat, and his dad eating
everyone else's dessert with more relish than duty.

Brian A. Salmons

Brian A. Salmons lives in Orlando, Florida. He writes essays, poems, and plays, which can be found in Qu, Marchxness, The Ekphrastic Review, Autofocus Lit, Stereo Stories, Memoir Mixtapes, Arkansas International, and other places. He's on IG @teacup_should_be and X/Twitter @brianasalmons.