Saturday, Jan 1

On a wonder past a molehill of ice; remnants of a last snow fall
clinging to cold as it awaits rescue from this morning’s weather advisory

this evening’s passing storm
the darkened store fronts
the steam of clothes dryer pvc pipes (not our mouths)

the low seniority bus (driver) leaves the stop

the quiet of the street (not our sidewalks)
the cries of a child around someone else’s corner
the suffering lungs of the year’s first run at a resolution

an empty plastic Brahma beer cup on an Annette St. tile of lawn

I step my way back to the blue desk in the yellow writing area of the silent living

room in my Quebec Ave. apartment to think this into ink, for you

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