A Sculpture by George Segal
They've been standing at the light
so long they've turned to salt.
Maybe they're confused because
it says WALK, DON'T WALK.
The man in the foreground has forgotten
where he is, wide stance,
hands in pockets.
He'd be meditating if he weren't
ash-white and immobile.
They might be enchanted,
folks who've stepped into a fairy ring-
a hundred years won't age them a minute.
They'll wake up, the light will change,
and they'll have the whole planet
to themselves.
Structure
15 lines · 1 stanza