Thoreau's beaten path to the river has
nothing on my bakery trip each morn.
We crave the ritual comfort to give us
a thought of control rather than forlorn
hope of the future. We are desperate
for meaning ,our curse and even I,
"atheist", am constantly on alert
for that one sparkling clue to catch my eye,
and bring all my life's work into focus.
Meanwhile the city buses continue
down Kuhio. the high heeled ladies cuss
their johns at 3, elderly tourists view
the sights after a long lifetime of work,
I sit in the bakery writing in my book.