Peter Pan Lake

            

            PETER PAN LAKE 

How the Jack Daniels solidifies things, William Allen White's bronze forehead gleams in the wintry moonlight. The lake is cold and indigo, the nightsky cobalt blue.

Ronnie buttons up his shirt, blows cigarette rings through the railing. The polished granite of the Peter Pan Lake Memorial seems rather pained‑looking, the look on the bronze statue sounds so sad.

               I see the look in his eyes,
               in this grove of old elms and 
               faults. Some are deep and 
               bitter, but love has come here.