The last pull of slack, a precarious grip
on the edge, familiarity so divine and questionable,
melodic steps along disillusioned streets.
The garbage man with the cleanest hands
washes all the discarded stuffed animals
and ties them to the sides of his rig.
Cicada wings and so many other things
to usher in autumn. Just two glances left.
Have I sacrificed enough?
Have I gained more than my worth?
Have I reached the last step of sidewalk?
Come tomorrow I’ll have forgotten
today’s infinite dreams of yesterday
for tomorrow’s today and today’s yesterday.
So much for all I vowed to remember.
About today’s poem:
Today’s poem is a rambling expose on the things I encounter along the road to the station, from the dog tugging anxiously at the end of the leash to the passing cars with music rolling.