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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