41 minutes to take back
if you’d askt me what i was doing there, sitting on my bum, dazed and spun around, unable to get back up for a while, here’s what i would have said
— — it began with a walk to the tucked away park by the school.
i passed little tykes with lunch bags in their fists and teachers telling them to keep bubbles in their mouths.
I passed a random bicycle, spilt in the street — looking around for it’s guardian i decided it was abandoned.
I circumvented a tree with more ants around its trunk than a computer could count.
I hopped over a trash bag full of who know’s what — it was too big to lift and drag anywhere proper without contamination.
and finally i hit that little patch of forest and mystery.
so wonderful the trails inside it’s canopy — must have smiled for hours.
and then when it got lonely, maybe just a microchip spooky, it was time to exit, go back to the real world I’d left for a breath of something else.
then to my delight, a beautiful storm was brewing.
so wondrous were the clouds, I had to chase it back to its source.
had time on my side, so jumped in my truck, geared down the windows, prepared for adventure, a pot at the rainbow brewer’s edge.
but that’s when it all got very strange, i tell you.
41 minutes later, I arrived at the top of a hill my truck and i had climbed. and how could it happen, but there it was?
the storm which sought to cap my imagination, my breath of redemption in this world of dreary brush strokes lately.
and there it was, the death of what was beautiful, that had hopskotched my brain, as I breathed and ducked and danced to keep my soul aroused and alert.
the storm I had chased, well . . .
there’s no other way to say it . . .
a dirty rotten factory had created it?
I landed on my bum.
— wondered about this world, where beauty and toxicity just tumbled around in a washing machine, leaving a soul all dried out.
— and a bit upside down.