Hazy Living
Day-old fallen snow
answers gravity’s call
inch by inch under mid-day sun.
The gutters of crumbling houses hold fast,
but strain under the water weight.
Everywhere, the sound of dripping.
Drip,
drip,
dripping —
flowing in some places.
Some neighbour four houses down
tries to yell over top of his loud,
motorized yard experiment.
The receiving line seems muted.
Monuments of eclectic random,
dot the lawns and
configure the atmosphere while
birds congregate,
tinkering.
A young foreign man
happily struggles past my house on a shiny,
new bicycle.
His contagious smile glowing
as he meets the challenge
of the icy, white sidewalk.
The aura of this already sleepy town
on this silent Sunday,
soothes the soul.
A subtle nod to broke living —
the art of getting by.
Time flies outside of this place.
