The Guru of Woodbine Park
He drives a tiny Honda, faded red,
The kind of non-materialistic car
expected from a Zen master. His head
looks big on skinny shoulders; hairline's far
above his weathered face. His age, who knows?
He could be thirty-seven, fifty-nine,
it's hard to tell. He sprints the sidewalk; holds
on branches, swinging monkey on a vine.
His movements contrast normalcy. His tight
black spandex pants and shirt one size too big
fit well for strange exercising at night:
Tai-chi? kung fu? or Richard Simmons gig?
He's just a gentle weirdo in the park,
Los Angeles is full of them at dark.
You know, this'll do for now, but I think I have a newer version than this (the version that got published). Then again, I could be wrong. I thought I had made the "swinging monkey" part flow better, but maybe not.
Hopefully there aren't any copywright problems, but at least I'm not benefiting from this financially in any way.