That first shit in the morning—
there is nothing better.
I wake up to the sound of traffic, outside my 3-story window.
The mist is magical. I drink espresso. There is nobody here, but me.
I haven’t found anything, as good as this, in my 35 years—
and then the sun burns away the fog of inspiration.
I have 3 hours, before the dull droning day.
I am awake, for the dream, and I begin to type.
Yesterday, I was afraid to let go—
to completely enjoy myself.
Here I am, on a limitless vacation from the job
(the supreme interrupter of the morning routine)
and I’m thinking
about all the things I need to do in life.
Why can’t I just listen to the trumpets on the classical music station, and ride my bike like a kid again?
No, I need to worry…
because I’m an adult?
I don’t know, but what I do know is that thinking gets in the way.
Tune-out your worries and focus on the music—it’s like a fresh wind
for a warm moment.
That’s my advice. Let the workers of the world break rocks, while you
go for walks.
The comradery of being a kid.
The neighborhood boys have been giving me a hard time.
“Can I go for a ride in your truck?” A black boy asked me. His two front teeth were coming in crooked.
I rolled-up my window, despite it being 100 degrees. He imagines, I might be a creep.
I sit in my vehicle, when I chat with my friend in Florida over Facebook.
“Why are you sweating?” My friend asked.
“It’s those kids,” I said. “I can never get away from them. They see a kind face, and they like to take advantage.”
Typically, I dress in a suit and a tie.
But yesterday, they saw me on my bike, in my camo shorts and t-shirt, and I was one of them.
I got a nod.
It said, “You are one of us.”
I don’t care about fitting in,
but I do worry about wasting my life.
People throw it away, like tin cans
of bad tuna fish.
If they only knew
what they could’ve had
they would go mad.