Thursday, October 16, 2014

Betty Johnson


Yesterday, I passed a sleeping dog, a kneeling gardener, 
and a meadow undulating under a perforated sky.
I passed landscapes, portraits and still lives
framed by slogans, epithets. 

Yesterday, I traveled the humming grey road
with its yellow and white stripes
its dotted lines, where I lost the ability
to tell right from wrong
along with the capacity to lose myself
lost as I was, floundering in the wild,
bewildered for a while.

Yesterday, I lost you and a connection with my history,
sitting in diners or at drugstore counters
drinking black coffee.
Without pockets, I didn’t know what to do with my hands,
dashing my dream of being a backup singer with the band.

Yesterday, you were here and now you’re not
(not that it matters a hell of a lot)
since yesterday has vanished and tomorrow 
portends departures.

Yesterday, you hid in plain sight
And I walked-on-by.

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