The curb:

 

I don’t know,

when

I lost the place

too

Might have been when the sun never ends

Or among a mountains cool dew

 

I had it once

And then,

Not

Time just sped by

And disappeared, spent and hot

 

It raced from here to there

Leaving flecks of moments of care

Strewn about a wandering mind

I wonder now

Was it real?

Was it mine?

Or was my time borrowed from

A place called kind

 

A concrete curb, a telephone pole to hold me up

Damn it to hell this seat I have is hard and rough

But it’s mine

And here I sit

Alone, or not

Won’t you join me?

For a moment or two

Not long, but enough

 

It’s not too hot

Or cold to feel

Just a curbside look

At drivers at their wheels

 

At drivers at their wheels

Spinning tires till they squeal

Rolling around on asphalt ground

Might be time for me to make

The train, southbound

 

And head on down to where sun never frowns

And leave the rest,

I see from my concrete curbs rest

Rolling around

And whose feet

Never seem, to touch the ground

But always seem to be a bit,

A little, ground

 

Now hear me my friend, I thank you for sitting with me

Will we meet again?

When will we see each other?

Sometime again?

I hope we do

And when we do

We’ll be sitting

On our curbside, concrete bench

Backs to our poles

Feet on the ground