The bright gray blanket laid out up there
like bodies on a beach bloating between
the sun and sand.
Pale pink posy posturing crazing, crackling crimson.
Beneath all that pale glaze, I walk toward my work
along with the cars, trucks, buses, trains, bikes;
All wriggling our different directions
like worms,
waiting for the day to rain.
Waiting for that inevitable
Our excuse to stop what we are doing.
Stop wasting time, heads buried.
And begin something new, which breaks the surface.
Something that moves.
Something that matters.
Something better than sitting in traffic, 9 to 5.
To become that savory snack;
That volted juice jumping our synapses;
To die in the mouth of a blackbird-
and be shat
somewhere we never imagined.

The bright gray blanket laid out up there
and I walked into it on my way to work.
Entering the office, I looked up.
The sky parted like a woman on a bus
crossing her legs the other direction.
The peak of blue was magnificent
and in that instant, I knew she knew
I appreciated all she had to offer-
so she opened up wider for me
and all the city was left wet.
And I, in the office, was dry, wishing I was not.
But there was work for me to do. Their work.
I wished it were my work, but it was not.
And later, as I walked home, the sky closed
and a bird did shit directly in front of my feet.
It was the first time in a long time that I was glad to be dry.

written on 05/05/2011 by: Matt Kane