Pickle Park
by Dan Senn

In this pickle park,
with no one in sight,
I am surrounded
by pickles
of a most picklish sort
the likes of which
I have never
before tasted.

Coming in waves,
these pickles,
from roosts
unknown to me
dribbling over
the stones
to my pebbly feet.

The sandy brine
between
my sandly feet,
cold
and gritty
and pickly.

Sydney, Australia,
November, 2011
©Dan Senn 2019