New Years
The first poem of the new year written while
sitting on Kuhio Street and begun when
I followed a lady of the night awhile
as she staggered down the street, then
turned off a side street on her high heeled
slippers, homeward,after a successful
night. I sat down at the bakery and hoped
that the sadness to her walk was just the full
weariness of hard work and nothing more.
It is a new year and like the Chinese icon
for tomorrow, I see a little sun pore
between the clouds of drizzle. A hopeful
dragon's breathe for the new day. We humans think
for more than what we see. Hope, addictive drink!
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