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.

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