Whimsy For A Buck

I stayed over with some friends, not part of what was going on.

I played Sonic on an old Genesis, as they drank, smoked, laughed.

I’m first up, and I walk outside, spring morning, mists hanging low.

Their dog is friendly, nuzzles my hand, demand attention from me.


Louisville morning, wide open fields behind the house, as if free.

I scratch the dog’s ears and head, and feel closer to him then them.

It’s spring, summer on it’s way, but it’s still cool in these dim mornings.

I wonder why I came here at all. I wonder what I thought I would find.


I pat the dog’s head and go back inside, as he whines at the door.

I’ll make coffee and I’ll watch TV until the others are awake.

Silly cartoons better than morning news or endless infomercials.

But silly cartoons are just selling you something, whimsy for a buck.


My mind is calm, despite the fitful sleep from 4 to 6, anxious dreams.

I sit in a recliner, drink my coffee, watch brightly colored shenanigans.

The coffee is hot and grounds me to the earth, as I feel as light as clouds.

I may go to college. I may go to war. I may finally leave this life behind.

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