One City Block

Bundles of plastic blue, paper brown,
huddle at their feet,
so many children;
three women share hats, sweaters, cigs.

Spittle flumes from a man
astride a moped, four inches from her toe;
nice Italian leather.

The flag inches over the square,
glass glints between concrete pavers
in front of the post-office.
A tuft of dandelions bursts
past used works.

Wallet waving, a man chortles
a lithium-deprived laugh,
begs coins from the suited
dude proselytizing pamphlets;
no takers.

A short block.
***
The prompt of two photos did not inspire, but the short walk from the metro to my office did: all along the west Lex Market folks hustle their drugs, their bodies, their boosted goods. Homeless congregate, hoping for spare change. Patients from the methadone clinic down the street stumble along the sidewalk with glazed eyes. Lots of sadness along this derelict stretch.

Treat yourself to this witty flash COMPUTER EDUCATION by fellow Harbinger, fictionaut, blogger, friend John Wiswell over at Every Day Fiction. Good stuff.

Boston cream pie. Wasy. Corned beef and hash. Glenfiddich, two fingers, neat. Coffee dark with sweet-n-low. Sunrise on Ocracoke Sound. Watching Survivor with mom. Mowing the lawn. Playing with grandkids.

Just a few of your very favorite things. Happy Birthday, Daddy... we miss you...


Peace, Linda