Thursday, November 26, 2009

Verse: 3:30 p.m.

On Chebucto
the traffic slows
like everybody
got the doldrums

the hands on the clock
seem to reverse
their course
reluctant to let
the day slip
from their grasp

The cats slumber
with paws outstretched
like drunkards trying
to hold onto the earth
after a bacchanal

And I
wait for you
like the buds
of an oak tree
wait for spring to
favor their blushing cheeks
with a kiss

Like a prisoner
waits for
a stay of execution

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