Excuses

The present product
of past,  and if you believe
that,  the future,  too

Saint Jude

Up before the alarm

again, throat dry,

head full of nails

each tagged with

a recipient soul,

keeping it together.

You've never noticed

the pensive man

eyes on the back

of your head as

you window shopped,

cried on a city bus

or tried to pay bills,

chin in soft hand,

the other rummaging a

deep pocket for grains

of hope, fuzzballs,

reasons to go on.

The positive error in

your checking account,

your daughter's smile

and numerous little

micro pleasures,

often discovered

after you've clambered 

off at your stop and

I've rode onwards.

The Samaritain

Today I helped an
old man cross a
bright,  busy street.

Taciturn, somber
he never asked
for help or anything,

cars whizzing by, 
office zombies and
children shuffling by.

Only some force of
inexplicable familiarity 
laced our heels together,

braving traffic together
nondescript,  inseparable 
chums from curb to curb,

til we turned a dark corner
and just like that he was
gone.

Rain II

Rain isn't pure
as it rolls over us
and rinses away
less than it leaves.

Enchanting scents little
more than reminders
of yesterday, somewhere
other than here,  now.

Seascapes we strolled
barefoot and pregnant
with ideals,  rivers
we cast line upon line in

suddenly drizzle on our
graying bare heads or
running off umbrellas
amongst the oblivious.

July's Wet Slap in the Face

All eyes look up

                                   then down, frowning

then up again

                                   away from ripples

cris-crossing 

                                   around wet feet

no different from

                                   six months prior and

most depressing

                                   of all.

A Wash

One from a parking lot entry
the other holding up the
door frame to a laundromat
a crumpled street and two decades
separate them and a lazy drizzle
that just won't subside.

One is a grey clad security guard
one is crowned with a white dome
one wears theirs much lower
one's toes can be seen
one of them is a woman
though I'm not sure which.

They observe the morning rain
they share their smiling laments
they turn their eyes up frequently
they shake their respective heads
they each stare at their feet
one gets back to work. 

Liberties

Given I've cursed myself

writing the title first,

I'll treat myself to a scribble,

poorly written, pointless lines

babbling, bubbling sloppily,

like those people I envy,

cranking it out without thought

or the slightest effort.