I satisfied a particular part of myself today
Doing something I rarely do and it was absolutely
Something to write home about.
On doing so, the envelope should boomerang back
Chuckling ‘return to sender’ in bold red letters.
I’ll just save the thirty seven now.
I have better cents than that.  It’d be a waste of time.
It’s that same part of me deriving accomplishment
From finishing a cigarette or mashing a zit right off the edifice of my forehead.
I suppose that’s not too ladylike then, I can justify it though,
For today something amazing was going on, and I rushed
To the scene of the awesome when I found out.
But it was too late, they were too gone, and all that hung
In the air was the essence of something amazing.
(I knew it, too, for  there were grains of trash dappling the ground
And a flyer with pictures with words with the message
Of something amazing.)
Snap one off the light post and fold it neatly, to be contained
In the confines of denim.  Hell, grab the lightpost, too. Put it in
My pocket.  With the cigarettes. And there was a tale I began to tell
You.  I stood there surrounded by flyers and empty cups
Litter tumbleweeds, blowing about the asphalt.
The sun shone, and the moon hung around, waiting his turn.
The wind was  there, but slightly, and I sat amidst it all.
This parking lot is empty, I’ll say aloud,
As I swallow my gum to send plumes of smoke rushing in, after it,
Then out to follow the clouds like a desperate cumulous groupie.
And tomorrow when I unfold the flyer from this pocket
I’ll reminisce.  Oh how amazing it was,
After something amazing happened.
Oh that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.