It ploughs a course
relentlessly
the Will of Nature
rolling on
as sticks and leaves
bounce away
from whitened skin and silt.
The waitress bends
to wash the tops
of heavy tables
clinging on
to crumbs and meat
from yesterday
which failed to meet a mouth.
And casually
she straightens up
and turns toward the river
her eyes following the path
of this very old parade.
A body must make its way
And a waitress must react.