The crumbling well worn path has weeds

and cracks strewn through its disjointed route

and I find it difficult not to fall in, to step away from

the gaping, yawning holes and the urge

to attempt to smell the ugly flowers, attractive in

their resilience and keeping away,

shyly and with purpose from the roses that bloom

on the safe and preserved verges.

 

The path has not always been friendly,

on some occasions I have strayed too close

to the middle, where the traffic, the bikes, the skateboards,