Month: August 2015

To Stranraer

I keep re-seeing
(if that’s a thing)
the location
in Glasgow
where the blank-cab
picked me up.
I do not remember
exactly where
this was
but the image
is crystalline.
I don’t want to active
any meaning
but being human,
I must.
I had yet to lean
on anyone
that summer,
but in a few days
I would be sharing a room
with an old friend
in Dublin.
This was,
in a way,
my last solo travel
and so it became burned
on my brain
and crops up
from time-to-time
up remind me
of solitude
as companion.

Hold on 17

Las Vegas at night.
Her only purpose
is to amuse me;
to engage me.
I am not engaged.
I know that I am not
dead inside,
but sometimes
I worry.
I can do anything
drink everything
and I am content
to idly wander.
Perhaps it is too late,
our arrival
too recent,
then I realize
that
I need to disengage
and observe,
to find place
in this
place…
Las Vegas.
Later
I will hold court
at a bar-top blackjack machine
and the free drinks will pour
until my seven-dollar investment
is spent.
But I’m good at blackjack
and so that will take
more than an hour:
Cheap thrills,
center-found,
easing-in.
Hit me.

Tuesday in the park

Two homeless ladies hug,
in parting;
their city-park encampment
is being tossed.
This gesture of normality
surprises me,
though it shouldn’t.
I am sure their lives
are as filled with banality
as mine.
This is simply
Tuesday.
Their faces carry the weight
of a life lived rough
and I feel sorry.
Not for them, though,
(this is just their Tuesday)
but for those who first loved them
and may still worry
about this Tuesday.