The Turning of Daylight Hours
Brings about the Best of You in the house
Laundry is Done, Dinner is On
Afternoon Steeps the longer shadows of the Sun.
Space-fillers Between Our Thoughts:
Where do My Children Play?
How are the Beans roasted for Coffee?
Where is the Love Of My Life lurking?
What is the Styrofoam in the Packing Unit
for the Cardboard Shelving of Our Lives?
Where are the Nuts & Bolts that Hold Reality together?
Where is the missing Cinnamon in my Chai?
Our stomachs turn over, longing for Minestrone
and we hear news of our Uncle dying in Brooklyn.
Life will never be the same.
Bicycles pass by on a Colored Day;
Pigeons could care less as they shit on your Popsicle.
Out of the Starving Midst; the Rhubarb of our soul
comes the call for Wholeness, the Sweet Fragrance
that was promised, somewhere in the Contract.
We never read the fine print; our Bifocals have expired.
The other Boys at the Sports Bar shrug their shoulders;
Chicks & Fries & the Score of the Home Team
weighs heavily on the hearts of Suburban Souls.
We look Westward, and the young Lives that seemed Immortal
Are cracking at the seams and wrinkling at the eyes,
But everyone smiles and writes polite poetry on Hallmark cards.
We sense our days are numbered, but we’ve forgotten the math;
we can’t do numbers in the Morning,
we can only do Band-aids in the evening.
Always – as it has been for Time Immemorial,
there are those who gather at the Oasis,
and speak of the Sweetness of the Water of the Soul.
These restaurants are off the Map; there is no Tourist Guide.
There is only the sense of Travelers:
Some with Monopoly Money in their pockets,
others with Water in their Jugs.
There is no right and wrong.
Only, the Thirst, The Eyes,
The Nectar.