The wind sings willows howls,
as it passes over abandoned bottles in my front yard.
The town drunk emerges from the dumpster a block over.
The cranky sounds of waking small towns,
music to my ears.

The disappointment was not part of the bargain.
It’s too late in the game to set it straight.
Another thing that needs swallowing.
Juxtaposition is a word I’ve never used,
but, sounds important.

Whiskers tickle my neck.
My razor needs to be recovered from the unemployment office.
A glossy bowl of minty cream awaits spreading.
Steamed mirror obscures the view.
I need a prescription for enthusiasm.

Life ‘bout got me wondering,
or is it wandering?