Heavy Eyelids and Sweaty Palms
Heavy eye lids and sweaty palms groping the steering wheel,
lost in thoughts of graffiti on urine stained walls being studied
by archeologists in search of wisdom 1000 years from now.
"Tanisha is a bitch ass ho!" - whole academic schools of
thought may spring up over the perceived meaning of just
such a spray painted scrawl, which will undoubtedly survive
long after all that I have poured over today has turned to dust.
On the side of the road lies the bloated corpse of a large rodent
that got in the way of progress and although my mind strains
to create some symbolic parallel - it is only a rodent too dumb
to recognize the danger of walking in the middle of the road.
As woodlands and wetlands disappear, it strikes me that the
most vile of bottom-feeders are the ones that multiply - rats,
crows, cockroaches - things that live on garbage and decay.
This morning I found directions in my pocket to somewhere
I've never been, but the address looked inviting somehow
and I regretted never having gone to "Stoneybrooke Lane".
It made me think of a rock in a stream, which, although
eventually will be worn away, persists when the water
impacts it or rolls around it in a gentle but continual current
that carries with it leaves and twigs to be deposited elsewhere.
To the right I pass a cemetary, probably once in an isolated field
that now seems to be creeping ever closer to the passing cars -
never sensing the inevitable four-lane that will one day consume it.
At some level I can relate, though - I've felt for days like I might
hear, "How did you like the play, Mr. Lincoln?" followed by the
crack of a pistol that reveals to passersby exactly what was on
my mind, which today would be a rock, a rodent and a graveyard.