| a stranger springs from the sidewalk like this week's blooms, the same pink, same bright green. weather's taken a turn towards the seasonal but I like how the bluster makes my walk for a pocket of warm more dramatic; it's been a while since I got a breakfast sandwich here, we both note but I don't mention my new year's taste for the smoky vegan ones of the other corner. on return my eyes are lost in plans, though not so much I don't enjoy a step into the crossing stalling some luxury semisuv. is there time for laundry before I join a three year old neighbor at the museum? I should do it now to make sure, before the first poem on buttondown. but I find myself sat with a steaming mouth to write and wasn't this ever the practice here? stray observations known at their will, soft and sharp, mewling an ambiguity of hunger and joy. | |