Elves secretly texting

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.”