Friday, July 4, 2014

And that's as real as it will ever get from here

bells clang to the hour
voices below
on street,
quiet suburban street,
where no doubt
picnics and bar-b-ques are

slow drawl of daylight/
sunlight breaking clouds,

grind of plastic on

chair legs? can't think
of anything else

somewhere a father scratches his
ass, thinks about relatives,
burgers, beers, wife, kids,
friday off and this is what I got
to put up with?

he grunts or sighs

he heads back into the house

coffee is heating breakfast is waiting

or at least I like to think,

but whatever if it's not and
all the same it's happening
out there in my head
and that's
as real as it will ever get
from here.

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