Peter J. McDonald sat on the bench and stared,
stared at the birds and the park and the bus,
all the people walking by and by,
not really making a fuss.

Peter J. McDonald took out his pack on his lap,
fished out a sandwich and took a bite,
chewing in time with a squirrel,
and it felt pretty right.

Peter J. McDonald took a sip and then stopped,
pausing to think about his last marriage,
pausing to wonder what went wrong,
but of her he could only disparage.

Peter J. McDonald kept on eating on the bench,
watching two little girls play Twister,
and he finished his lunch and decided
he’d never again marry his sister.