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ALLEY CAT LOUNGES
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THE SHY RETICENT POET
In a royal hurry
to get nowhere
to do nothing
with great urgency
an alley cat lounges
atop a trash can
a young junkie
with grey hair
sits on a broken pallet
The papers have been pushed
The computers have
been fired up
and numbers find themselves
reconciled and fully counseled
Car horns blaring loudly
running only 5 minutes early
to arrive at the Void
I like how the poem swerves
I like how the poem swerves from skilled description to gut-punching cinclusion.
Starward
thank you kindly
thank you kindly