Revisiting The Expensive Park

Revisiting The Expensive Park
Underfoot,
breadcrumbs have hardened into gravel,
Oreo crumbs into pine needles,
seaweed, expired, into dry hay.

Deep inside the park,
the capsule.
Step in.
Close your eyes.
Pitch black—
except for an afterimage burned by the sun.
When you open them again,
the dizziness lifts,
like the moment you leave the sea.

The capsule door remains intact.
Seven a.m.
Every morning,
an attendant
conducts routine checks
on the safety of the swings.

Bright eucalyptus leaves fall
and are arranged
as decoration in a studio.

The woman in purple still smiles.
Only the two dogs are gone.
On the path,
the half-eaten remains of a hen.
Perhaps they were two foxes.

The expensive park, named Price Park.
Most visitors
are busy assigning suitable price tags
to their dreams and their selves.
Some discover the tag is too small—
unable to contain a single π.

2026.01.23