I thought it would be nice

to sit and write a poem in gramercy park.

I approached the gate: closed. Locked.

excuse me ma’am , I asked the lady with her dog.

what time does the park open?

oh it’s always closed, she replied. You need a key to get in.

so here I sit, at the corner of gramercy park south and Irving Plaza

on a stoop.

The park sits beautiful and empty,

but the birds fly in and out.

the birds, the squirrels, the butterflies and moths,

require no key to enter gramercy park.

locks and keys are a human thing.

rather than wishing I had the key to gramercy park,

I sit and watch the birds fly.