805

805

 

Watershed moments

while sitting in traffic,

the girl two cars up

is texting while she waits.

 

The smoke from my cigarette

circulates,

with the tide

of the air conditioner,

it makes for an interesting smell.

 

But I’m use to that,

the smell anyway.

 

And the ice cream cake

I bought,

is melting into the back seat.

 

“Oh that’s funny!”

I whisper to myself.

 

As we inch

our way up the 805.

 

Wondering how the children

will react,

not about the treat,

but the skirt I chose to wear.

 

It’s black.

 

And I feel like I’m on my way

to a funeral,

I kind of am.

 

I can only imagine

what the priest is going to say,

as my boys

cling to their mom.

 

I wonder if I’ll

be able to hear what’s being said,

so I know where I’ll be heading

in the end.

 

“oh that’s funny!”

 

And we inch forward

on the 805.

Reviews

[Charles]

I've been browsing through your posted writings and am intrigued by the depth of feeling in some rather simple things... wonder what some of it means. And, that makes good poetry, doesn't it? You don't use a lot of flourish or fancy descriptors to make your point - it's king of like looking at black and white photography. It simply is what it is. I like it. I like the crisp observations and the meaning you find in smoke, color (like the black skirt), melting ice cream and so on. Good work. I'll browse some more, but for now must move on. Happy trails.