You need more exercise, too

Ostensibly for air and exercise

In truth she had escape from boring talk

And change of scene, diversion for her eyes.

Accountancy, a passion lacking fire,

Left much to be desired regarding fun.

Profession reached, she meant to rise still higher

But never missed appointments with the sun.

The sun itself was laggardly of late.

On Monday and on Tuesday skies were gray

And Wednesday's sky was gloomy, dark as slate,

But Thursday looked to be a better day.

She entered in the noise and stink of crowd

With only half an ear and wrinkled nose.

The chatter harmless nonsense spoken loud.

The scent of man, though nothing like a rose,

Was soon forgotten, two breaths filled her lungs

And filled with man, the girl's repugnance passed.

She found the melody in foreign tongues

But didn't understand: they spoke too fast.

Still, song is song, from throat of man or bird,

The difference between them very slight.

And now and then, sometimes, she'd catch a word

At least there was some chance she had it right.

Repulsed and charmed, by asphalt borne along

Her circumnavigation of the park

She walked among the trees in human song

An eye alert for something to remark.

But, really, grass and trees and busy folk

You never meet, whose hands you never touch

Make public place a cruel and empty joke.

She told her own and laughed perhaps too much.

She chuckled as she fended off . . . a moth.

So far a fine adventure this had been!

She nearly missed the flag emblazoned 'sloth'

In muted gold on vibrant tangerine.

Across the grass a frisky vagrant breeze

Had tugged the banner's tail and stretched it out

So there the message could be read with ease,

Indeed, its colors made the signal shout.

But 'sloth?', she thought, what kind of message there?

A soccer team? a television show?

Some beast at large, of which she should beware?

Or was it something else? She itched to know.

She spied beyond the first a second flag,

Triangular, as was the one before.

Conjecture plagued her, thoughts began to nag,

A test of wit? is someone marking score?

"How droll and arrogant," a passing thought

That drowned in admiration of the dare,

The bait for her, a challenge to be caught.

Another banner beckoned to her there.

The number two was bronze on brown, 'profane,'

And number three read 'Mama was a slut',

In rosy tones, if color were germane,

A clue, and not mere weirdness from some nut.

She hurried now, a huntress giving chase

To what might prove a shadow at the end

Her quarry and pursuer had no face

But marked a path that seemed to say, "Come, Friend"

The flashy trigons now were clustered thick

She felt her nipples tingle at the sight

A guarding bubble burst at fatal prick:

'Still Innocent' was last, in black and white

A gaudy cloud of colored guidons flew

Above the plain man busy at his task

Whose purpose in a flash she knew she knew

To verify, of course, she had to ask.

"So what about that . . . sewing basket, Sir?"

The merry man replied by meeting eyes

With eyes that knew and coolly measured her

Completely, wit and heart, saw past the lies

Of costumed status, beauty, signalled worth

In calm appreciation of her soul

Indifferent to the accidents of birth.

He analyzed the integrated whole

And found relief and joy, and then he laughed

"Perhaps I should tell all to you, dear lass.

Your question says you do not think me daft

To stitch and plant these banners on the grass."

(a little sigh) "So very many do . . . .

But, here, take up a needle and some thread.

I held the basket ready just for you.

'Apostasy!' I think, in shades of red.

You sunny child who reads my joke and grins,

Politely holding back your outraged groan,

Come join me doing pennants for our sins;

We blameless few have nothing to atone."