Meandering
I don’t mind if I don’t make this light
In fact, I want to linger here
On this street corner
I’d prefer a bench, but those are occupied by the societies fringe, and lined with empty cans of fortified malt liquor, cigarette butts, and the types of refuse that’s generated when one lives on the edge
No, I’ll wait here on this street corner for my turn to go
Sun hitting my face and breeze caressing my hair
It’s one of the few times it’s okay to be still
There’s a sanctioned purpose for this idle
To me, it’s a weary reprieve
A relief
(Originally written May 25th, 2017 at 12:25 pm)
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