‘nice to meet you‘
the greeter said with insincerity
long as a dog’s tongue
‘have a seat next to
someone you might
like to get to know tonight‘
the room was hard
the acoustics adust
the floor uneven
the walls opaque
we gathered in a fish tank
uneasy with present company
hungry for commitment
unwilling to remove our jackets
or seek each other’s eyes
the experience was twitching
the chairs magnificent
the seats were cold~
sign of our times
hunger remains
blood rivers
hope songs flow
through our veins
seeking remedy
a child’s play
colours an empty street
slow steps quiet day
human hearts beat
Love waits~
He is there
on route 53
the man who sits
on his white plastic chair
He is dressed
in black
He has
a dusty black hat
the man who lives
in his white plastic chair
He is a watchman
He is a guard
He is a marker
He is a constant
He is an always
All seems right if he’s there
He is the man
who sees us
who marks each passing day
from his white plastic chair~
dread of days on earth
the mercy of shade
pause for the discarded~