sunday

it is sunday, and the town is sleepy.

worn from friday night’s

celebratory beginning

exhausted from the revelry

of saturday.

sleepy.

the people stir about, still,

to churches to markets

to stores though;

with less eagerness than before.

sleepy.

people sit, asking

“where did the week go?”

monday?tuesday?wednesday?thursday?

inconsequential.

friday&satuday?

never quite eventful.

alas, they are gone

though soon to return

so families sit now, together.

some eating,

some watching tv.

others, apart.

lonely.

waiting to see what next week could bring;

but for now, it is sunday, and the town is sleepy.

for tomorrow

the shower sputters to life
drenching me
welcoming
in it's aqueous downpour
destroying
decomposing
the events of the night
the fumes of memory
circle the drain and one
by one

the scents vanish.

soda. exhaust.grass. dirt. smoke.
ambient traces of where I've been
down, down, down
the drain.
the scents-gone forever
the memories-never far.
the shower takes a part of me, a part of
my mind
and soaks it clean with my body
ready to be dirtied or purified:
a clean slate

for tomorrow.

Wonders

good morning, O glorious world!
what wonders have you
for a lowly
pathetic
wimpish
humanoid?

wonders, yes
small wonders!
why, the very fact that my heart didn't decide to
stop
last night
elates me!

forget war!
forget disease!
forget hate! angst! distrust! hunger! dishonesty!
infidelity, ignorance, bigotry, greed
and while we're at it
forget humanity.

and forget me, too.

wonders.
the wonders of the human race.
it's a wonder we live
peaceful
unconcerned
ungrateful lives.

don't worry, though.
by the time we're done,
there won't be any world left in which to
wonder
about why we do this to ourselves.

Drive

It's far too late to be driving about
and the lights stay green for unusual amounts
of time
see the lighted signs:
remind you of the secrets this winding road hides.
All buried memories, asphalt outside.

the road you have traveled on many occasions
seems somehow new, as though fresh in creation.
But you can't shake the memories of this haunting road,
so you flee from it; faster; escaping this zone
of fear
that possesses you here
you speed past the site, not time for distractions
but that spot in your mind: consequences for your actions.

But now it's apparent, things never will be
the same
they know you're to blame
and the horrible fate that they wish you to fall to
you go forth to with Godspeed, no courts will involve you.

The Father

through the store
confused
looking, searching,
through clothes-racks
now toys
colored trinkets
cars
figures
indecisive.
for a child,
of course,
he shops. Though:
a child he knows?
a nephew?
a child of a friend?
or; a son.
a son, which he truly
knows not.
his care of picking
choosing every item
running hands-
over
his selections.
his chances
to love
a son
to him
unknown
a father
a store
alone.