cups

"now just bored to death of rain-"
George Murray

we are told the poem starts from a
small space.

on one side, it begins to rain. this is
not the only reason for umbrellas.

i wait for my daughter in a room packt
w/ too many adults, & children. they

keep knocking into me.

my patience wears thin, as does
the coffee cup.

*

smiling, into his cups. one girl locks
the door, so no one else

can come thru. not a bad idea.

this is what happens when the urban
meets the rural, suburban
chaos.

lollipops & candies, placating, i
have some myself.

contemplating the ying & yang, one slip
against another, completing circles.

when the adults float thru, my eyes
at torso level. not where love

begins, but lust. listening
to cellphones.