The neck tied
shoe shined and
the lipsticked
pantsuited
rush into days
grinding hours,
past Quick-marts
and pawnshops
and Mexican restaurants
to grey and glass
office buildings
reaching head and shoulders
towards a
cotton candy sky.
RED
YELLOW
GREEN LIGHT
intersections crowded,
used car lot specials
and tool-laden pick-ups
and Mc Single moms
late for Mc Shifts
at Mc Dead-end jobs.
The sad-faced unshaven
wait with cardboard signs
and upturned palms;
gravel-voiced pleas
smell faintly
of yesterday's drink.
Little Rock stretches
and yawns and shakes herself awake;
and blowing on Turkish coffee too hot to drink,
I bid her Good Morning and open my laptop waiting
for the day to write itself.
