Lost In June
This is the perfect moment.
I sit here watching the space
of which nothing happens.
All dust has been settled.
The birds have gone somewhere else.
If you listen hard enough you can hear the dead sounds
Of children playing
And parents commiserating
Over a 30 pack of Beast and a plate of Coke.
But not now.
This is not happening now.
This is the perfect moment.
The stillness is not calm nor eerie.
The stillness is still.
And the moment remains perfect.
And still nothing will happen here.
And the sun can move all it wants
But it won’t change the action in this 100 sq-ft plot.
The wind won’t blow the water
In the inflatable swimming pool.
The heat won’t cause the stench
Of rotting debris and garbage in the yard.
This space is infallible.
It’s the kind of beauty you hear authors describe
And sad kids dream of.
And they dream.
And they dream.
And they dream.
And this moment couldn’t be more perfect
As I light another Gambler
And admire it some more.
God damn.
Nothing is going to happen here.
The cops will not show up.
The boyfriend will not go off to jail.
There’s no armpit hair laden artists
Painting things gold
Or pink
Or yellow
Or a combination of the three.
This moment will not be interrupted by the humming mailman
Or the old lady with the cat on the leash.
The newspaper boy comes before this moment.
Everything came and went
To let this all be possible.
And as I thought things couldn’t get any better
A hairy man walks out of the door
Sporting a plaid jumpsuit
And carrying an empty Ice Cream bucket.
Without thinking twice
He immediately heads down the sidewalk
And into obscurity.
This is the perfect moment.