Fiver Dreams

poetry and 5 photos by the author - a meditation on walking and anxiety

And

as you pilot this aging meat-suit

up over another hill

pocked

with polished asbestos boxes

rolling over

the left knee a little sore

but you’ll get by

remembering an overheard gob of mush-mouthed

conversation

two

unwashed and un-homed - shoulder to shoulder

heads bowed before the jet black

vee-

hick-

kull

as the fresh-faced does the protect and the serve

“welcome to Shittery” - says one to the other

and spits,

not at you but you avoid his eye anyway

move along, nothing to see here

you realize that it does smell a bit like manure today, it’s that or the diesel

(you have made that joke yourself)

and there is more than a hint of organic garden in the air today

as sprung has sprang Pandora’s box spring dripping wet with the promise of green

and the sun feels hot

makes you wonder which apocalypse it’s gonna be this summer

rolling along and ignoring the knee, nose twitching

day-dreaming of a certain

dreaming

rabbit

the knotweed apocalypse perchance?

or the bittersweet choking the trees?

some red-faced maganauts might pilot black pickup trucks

right

through your world…

through all of our worlds perhaps

there is so much, still, that may be broken

torn from your grasp

(you shudder, a chill)

but the sun is warm on your back and the knee doesn’t hurt so bad

and the words insist that they are their own

little

apocalypse,

twitching in remembered fear

(but knowing to remember the Flowers along the Way)

and

so

rolling over another hill and on

until home,

and the knee doesn't hurt at all

nor the heart

no matter what warning

the warming air may bring.