Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Day 12 - Morning Commute

Morning Commute

It was the kind of day
where overcast skies seem
overwhelmingly grey
and pregnant with much needed rain;
where I don’t need to be
a meteorologist
to predict the leading edge of rainfall;
where budded trees unfold leaves
and stretch to the heavens
in worship and thanks;
where I envy trees’ sturdiness,
and conviction to its existence.

It was the kind of day
where green and gray seem like
the only colors that exist.

It was the kind of day
where the new floating bridge opened,
but I didn’t realize it
until after I was crossing it
after many months of observing
it’s glacial crawl across the lake,
only to realize that
the bridge had been open
for nearly a week and
I had crossed it many, many times
without noticing any difference at all.

It was the kind of day
where steel dragons build concrete
bridges to nowhere in particular.

It was the kind of day
where I hoped that strangers
would refrain from smalltalk,
fearing that I’d have to
look them in the eye,
smile, and lie to someone
I’ll never see again
by telling them I’m fine;
where I try to blend in with my
grey and green surroundings,
fearing that I’m recognized
and needed by someone
I care too much about to refuse.

It was the kind of day
where I am the falling man.
***




2 comments:

  1. Barry, what you did here is seriously solid writing. U I actually didn't want it to end.

    "It was the kind of day
    where I hoped that strangers
    would refrain from smalltalk,
    fearing that I’d have to
    look them in the eye,
    smile, and lie to someone
    I’ll never see again
    by telling them I’m fine;"

    ReplyDelete
  2. Barry, what you did here is seriously solid writing. U I actually didn't want it to end.

    "It was the kind of day
    where I hoped that strangers
    would refrain from smalltalk,
    fearing that I’d have to
    look them in the eye,
    smile, and lie to someone
    I’ll never see again
    by telling them I’m fine;"

    ReplyDelete