How on Earth, in writing can I catch
A walk at lunchtime,
Where in less than a minute I observe
The changing sky, the cold air in my throat,
The grey, damp, paving stones,
My reflection in the windows of the County Court,
Kids wandering past and hearing their talk,
As I hear a pounding drum beat via my ipod,
And think about poetry again and how much I like
The word metonym but I can’t quite remember
What it means,
And how glad I am I made my class and
I must remember to buy that envelope?
The light goes green.
I go.
