How Does a Lamp Post Feel
It’s cold outside tonight.
Just rounding seven o’clock.
My friends have left and I’m stuck in a what seems to be eternal incandescence that encompasses my willowy form.
I am so tall, it is as if the tree tops speak to me.
Their leaves tapping my shoulders looking for questions carried by the wind.
And I?
I stay structured, securing the perimeter with my watchful eye.
Sometimes this job gets tedious.
As time flies by like the geese in the winter I sulk.
But monotony can be beautiful, I’ve seen things that would tear these sleeping houses to shreads.
And things so treasured and special I question my indecision.
First kisses.
Dead pets.
Sunrises.
Sunsets.
You can call me a hero for lending my light.
A suburban legend brought to life.
And when light is dependable once again, and it’s time for me to take a rest.
I’ll stay planted in the ground like an artificial oak and soak in vitamin D.
I will dim my being and dream of the beach.
I’ll dream of providing hope for lost sailors.
And see more of the midnight eve.
Copyright © Lisa Ebehardt | Year Posted 2014
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