by the traffic surge amok
and a left turn on to 24th ave.

When I was new born
resting in a used baby buggy,
entertained by poverty, anxiety,
and free peek a boos.

Things improved slightly
to nitrated, canned, corned-beef
and cabbage, bubble and squeak,
and here I am with hostile turkey gravy,
depressed bland carrots,
bitter mashed potatoes,
67 years later.

Thank a woman goddess or two
for Nanaimo bars,
date squares and short bread.

We proceed through the night,
adjust the working thermostats
and dream of a better day.

Ordinary moments,
yes, ordinary moments
dreams out of reach.

The jello is gone,
the cello moans softly
on another avenue,
too far from here,
and the treasure maps our forgeries.

I toss a line
and you don’t bite.


2 thoughts on “Compelled

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