• Serena Heddell

The Jacket of Park Ave

The temperature sits around 34 degrees Fahrenheit,

clock anxiously clicking at around 2 in the morning.

A vehicle or two pass by me, never asking for my name.

Some will slow down from time to time, curiosity maybe?


I watch as the frost begins to swell on the windshields of

parked cars, blissfully unaware while sleeping the night away.

Their engines off and resting.


A few young characters spot me.

They can’t be much older than 16.

They slowly approach, cursing under their breaths in confusion.


Their faces contort from confusion to relief as they laugh it off.

I am happy that my form relieved them of their fear, strolling away blissfully unaware.

Secretly I hoped and prayed they would come back to ask my name.


I sit and ponder what the future holds and who will wonder.

Maybe I will still have my spotlight, maybe I won’t.

Maybe someone will report me on Waze,

“object on road in 0.2 miles.”


Though I can continue to dream,

this frozen night has made me realize that Park Avenue is now my home.

I’m just the trenchcoat of Park Ave.


Expensive and new,

cold and afraid,

frozen and alone.


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