Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter

Sunday, August 14, 2005

This Morning's Commute

It was mistaken identity
when someone lost their deck of cards
from a passing back seat window.
I know because the face-up
King of Clubs scream it from the curb
each and every time I walk by.
On the way to work
mid-morning - not early, not late
a lone goose on safari overhead
honks like an overexited puppy
eager to take the lead, and landing
just in time to goad the others,
take down the trashman at the dumpster
for his several bags of goodies.
And midway again - not early, not late
but already heat stifles the living
labored breath, and I remind myself
its not so much the weather but rather
some unexpected hot air having descended;
there must be an impromptu gathering
of republicans somewhere nearby, dressed in their
feathered finery, Sunday's best on a Friday
morning.... I'm cutting corners in a
series of shortcuts for even better time
and a brief respite of cool air just past
those doors before venturing back out.

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