33.
The chill has arrived, early Oct.
fall chill. When I feel the cool
wind caressing my face, I reflect
on my coffee cart job in Denver
Colorado, 1995 positioned on the corner
of 17th and Blake across the
street from the RTD Public transit
station, main hub, and the steamed
milk (hiss) and espresso scent
up to my nostrils as I would
sit waiting for passing customers
reading Edgar Alan Poe, my guts
in the tense knot of low income,
barely making it.
Nobody was on line then and
scarcely anyone had a cell
phone. My favorite mornings
were those quiet cloudy
ones, bright orange red heaps
of leaves tickling the wide Blake Street
sidewalk in tumble motion
and gust hiss.
Now, at 44 years old it’s Nebraska’s
barest vines creeping up trees
and walls - trembling net
interwoven through chain link
spaces of endless link fences
like mechanized robot chirps
when tossed around or shaken
up by fingers thrust through and
curled up - ball of fist.
The hell dream and the nightmare.
Soft beginning of Oct.,
forty-four Octobers
that I've witnessed and slipped through
white knuckled skin of teeth.
(October 4th, 2014)
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