Saturday, November 28, 2015

7516. WAITING

WAITING
Here I am, basking in Ruminary Square, 
a pat of muffin and a coffee in hand. 
Sitting squarely in the path of nuisance, 
I'm watching that girl come towards me. 
And, My God, don't I wish, who am I
kidding. What use is an old newspaper 
in today's digital world? 
-
Maybe I'll just sit back instead, think about
butterflies on a warm Autumn day. Where 
have they all gone, and how do they do it?
There's nothing really left here - if you look
for signs of life. I mean, trees are bare, the
leaves blown around, the bushes are empty,
and straddle the ground. Squirrels, flush
to bursting, are collecting their nuts. 
Another Winter's upcoming filch.
-
The sense of these benches is a sense of
foreboding  -  a dark-colored waiting, some
bad expectation. I should sit here for the
twelve inches of snow to visit? I should 
wait for cold rain and the freeze? Since
I've nowhere to go, it's really now, really,
all disbelief. The suspension of habit,
a presence of grief.

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