The thing with movies and with books is they end. Life is wrapped up in little blips, in little stories. Maybe why I like poetry is because it doesn’t end like all other things end. It doesn’t have to close. One leads to another to another. It’s life that way. It’s real life.
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I was waiting at the crosswalk this morning to go treat myself to chocolate doughnuts and coffee and I wait for the chirping sound of the blinking walk man, even if there are no cars coming I wait sometimes. And today I was totally oblivious to waiting. I was smelling the wet air and watching the high layer of gray over the city with an underlayer of sun. I wanted to stay outside as long as I could stay. I hadn’t even realized there weren’t any cars coming and some guy zoomed past me, walking fast in a trench coat. He didn’t wait and it made me laugh because I wasn’t sure why I was.
I saw a dead bee on the sidewalk crashed like an upturned plane. The Christmas Tree is on the square. They put it up last week and it’s a thick tree, a tree they really hacked the life out of, a tree from deep in the forest with a pretty self-sustained root system and now it’s gone without roots at all. They cut the bottom to fit into the old fountain that’s not a fountain in the winter just a hole in the middle of the square.
When I first saw the tree, parts were missing on the side of it, broken arms. Today somehow they’re magically fixed it. Through the branches were metal rods holding this poor thing up for display. I like live trees, I put one up every year. Named one Douglas once and covered him with buttons and foil and cat ornaments and said he was the ugliest most beautiful Christmas Tree Ever. Maybe I’m not any better to cut down the tree either or buy the tree that’s cut down, but something about this one on the square makes me feel for it. And then I think it’s odd to feel for a tree, but then I’m reminded of my SUPER POWERS and it’s OK again.
I’m trying not to be angry today. At people who have done nothing in particular to me. People of this place that anger me because they never stop when I’m crossing the street or they honk at you or they just keep fighting you for space, to be in space. Today already seems like too long of a day. People in the world do not seem to be doing well. All over. The man from work, my writing teacher, people all over blog land, another man’s friend from work. It all seems as if we are collapsing with the onset of winter. It makes me feel terribly tired and sad and like running away. I miss my family today and winter looms an oppressive, heavy coat.
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