Walk

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I thought I knew what I felt

I could reach out, touch

I’m not sure anymore

wandering the back alleys

I see the scattered trash

cans, wrappers, chewed gum,

black dog feces,

things rusted beyond recognition

the mud seems somehow appropriate

I raise my eyes, study

obscenities, graffiti scrawled

as if clawed with extended fingers

which turf is whose

as if anyone cared

I see nothing here for me

turn corner, parking lot

car upon car, as if in a can

one door open, man with his legs out

making a phone call,

confidences pressed close to ear

a woman driving by smiles

– I don’t know her

every now and then it tugs at me

I turn away with a shrug

I’m too tired to be angry,

expect too little to be disappointed

bad taste in my mouth

is here to stay

I cross the road,

another parking lot,

laundromat, fast food joint, credit union

I stop at the lip of

the highway, watch the steady

four lanes of traffic,

packed close,

deafening roar,

menacing glitter

a horn sounds

brakes

I turn and walk on,

back turned to

the flow of traffic….

while this poem is a crazyquilt of true things, let's try to observe the distinction between poet and poem and not make too much of this personally, okay? best wishes, folks....



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