to go fishing
four feet deep
into a pile of leaves,
blackened with the fungi
of a generationally bad joke.

I called it a futile Friday,
while Veronica in her Crocs
reminds me, that once a day,
a chance has been manifested.
a lesson in tactful tolerance.

she hands me a transfer slip
today, she doesn’t need.
and Alex writes down all,
everything so dear,
that he’ll take to North Dakota.

promise scampers
to the sky-gray cold,
and flowers drenched in
family store beer
lie flat in their familiar patience.

Alex waves goodbye,
and Veronica sips her water.
my toes wriggle in rotten cloth
and I imagine these balconies
humming in perpetual acquiescence.


8 thoughts on “lofty

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s