Monday, November 21, 2011

The Pain in my Thoughts and Thighs


 The Pain in my Thoughts and Thighs 

I start my morning with a cliché,
a lukewarm one at that. Walking
on ice, my reality.Trending on ice
that was once was snow, but tires
and time turned into a sheet of a mixture
white and black ice, another overused
metaphor of good and bad. So, here
I was pushing, with likeness of a beer
induced dance, toward my morning bus
stop. In the wide middle of the street
there was a path cut by tires, I meet
the moonlight of the walk and snow dust,
making sure of the planting of the heel,
the best way to avoid slipping in real
time. The red lights of warming cars
with exhaust breathing into the darkness,
became markers in my not falling.
Already, I ave pain from the ape walk
that I use to walk on the ice. Being
a meaning making machine, I wonder
why? The best I can come up with, due
much to the weakness of my morning coffee
yet to hit, and the knowledge of so many
thousands of year of poems, predictions,
pacing on ice, both black and white,
is that sometimes it snows in November
and being prepared to start earlier
will keep you from missing the bus.
Luckily, I did not have to run on ice,
another cliché altogether.

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