A silver creamer is set down,
sweating; a ring of frost
circling where it has settled.
From where I sit in the window,
sipping my coffee in
its pink cup, I stare
out at the people
coming and going
every which way.
People on feet,
people on cars,
people on vans,
people on trucks,
and even more
people on buses.
They keep going
as I stay sitting in the window.
I watch the people
slowed and stopped;
hands falling off the wheel
and landing on their phones.
Even the people walking
can't be bothered
to remain within their slowed
A waitress pours me a refill
as a butterfly
moves over the heads
of the cars stopped at red.

I walked my way
to where I am
and I'll walk my way
from where I came.
There are no short-cuts worth
the time
if you are not in the same rush
as them;
the people in their vehicles.
I watch a plane
cut across the clouds
into blue sky.
Why, I wonder,
would anyone want
to outrun the heavens?
To move so fast
that clouds are passed;
you are only passing by
in so many missed moments.

I sit until the silver creamer
has stopped sweating.
There's nothing worse
than setting something
room temperature
into ones mouth.

narrative poem written on 06-11-2014 by: on mattkane.com
view image of poem


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