I am not one of those
great poets
who rhyme on purpose.
I am one of those
mediocre ones
that make you laugh
and hopefully,
make you feel
and/or think.
I run on the opposite side
of the wet road at 6.
From where the sidewalk
stretches, no one
was walking.
Right after
sunset, the lamps
on the Grandover Parkway
come on.
Rich and reaching-for-rich
people
are having dinner.
Tomorrow it will
rain all day and I
will write this poem
when only the cardinals
are singing outside
and enjoying
a gray day.
They are probably watching
tv shows on huge screens.
Not the birds, the people
in warm, well-lit rooms.
They missed the sunset
on purpose
when I was running
illegally
on their winding golf
course.
It looks magical
and acrylic, like a lost
Van Gogh painting
we forgot to notice.
When no one is on it,
the sun dances
in vivid colors:
striving magenta
and desperate orange
back down
to a restless sleep.
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