November 28th, 2011
He sneers as he stumbles
That crack in the sidewalk keeps getting bigger
He keeps his head down to hide the salt
So no one sees the fool
He wonders where his harp is
To lull him out of this obscurity
He’s read it in books, he’s seen it on the television
Someone comes in to reveal the sun
The grey day doesn’t have any light
But he knows it’s there.
It’s just hiding, patient for the clouds to move
God, he wishes he could feel that warmth
He wonders if it’s too early for a drink
An anesthetic to freeze the mind
Retarding memory and history and wiping it out for the now
Furthering his momentum; proceeding.
He stares blankly at the painted walls
The walls he painted to hide the past and coat it in the new
Tears come so easily now
They always have though, for him
Punctuation, alliteration, forming words
Why do they come so readily at these moments?
They pour like water from spigot
And yet here he remains, hoping.