#poem, The Great Way

THE GREAT WAY

Mothers and fathers

at pace with whatever

sounds pollute their ears

push their tiny offspring

in squeaky buggies.

Tiny socks caress the ankles

of short pants,

strolling and eye piercing,

creatine digestion,

step counters,

time consuming

merchants of paraphernalia

on the sunny side.

I ride the last few drags

from a faded Winston,

cranberry hopes

knifing through

yesterday’s plans.

Corner dwellers.

Tamed and idle reminders.

The present need:

to be somewhere.

Watch,

like a cat from a storefront window.

Curiosity is not an acquired trait,

it is a reflex.

A flying empty pack of Winstons

graces the rubbish heap

sacrificing itself

in rays from St. Malo’s

crispy sun.

The cracks are jagged teeth

and long tongued.

To passing trainers, pumps

or fancy boots.

The puddles always shine with

last night’s bile.

Racing downwind from

the coffee aroma

an umbrella holds up

a centenarian.

(Francisco Bravo Cabrera)

CHEERS