Saturday, November 6, 2010
The grouchy porch steps denotes my footsteps,
a dominant trees hangs over its offspring,
a street light powers down and winks me away,
and manic cars stop and start again in anxiety.
My bag bursts open like eggs on a sidewalk
and I fret like parents can on tomorrow’s plan.
My thoughts drag along, like hippos in mud
and I drop my keys, try to smile but only frown.
I drink coffee, one too many, and jittering
I drive daringly and skipping stop sign, and staring
I skim past a man on his bike, practically unperceiving,
I arrive, stepping out, looking up, not naming the stars.
So what? What now? Curl up into a tight ball?
Perhaps the proverbial writing is on the wall,
not graffiti, but secret elves texting last night.
Saying “Nothing is good if lost in plain sight.”