Back on the fast track of
Long hours, stress and endless adjustments
The city chatters with the voices of hurry
Some days you feel like asking for a third leg
To help with the balancing act
(“That leg is God, may you find him now…”)
Weaving between the angry yellow cabs and delicate brush strokes
Of Gadd and Gauguin
The phone stalls, sputters, starts again,
Answering calls needed to be made weeks ago
My day scattered like so many grounds
From a discarded, steaming coffee filter

And the quiet only comes when eyes drop unexpectedly
Not taking the time to listen to his delicate words
Not making the room for the quiet of gratitude
Racing without qualifying, marking without placement,
packing without cases

It’s all about load out…

Soon, we’ll be far from here, far from convenience
And far from home
Our shoes wet from raindrops unappreciated,
Our hands dirty from earning,
Our eyes tired from looking the wrong way.