Diana Morales Poet Free verse

The Telephone Shoe Wire (Pt.2)

**Cleaners**
~ O.P.E.N ~
Mon-Fri: 7 a.m. to 8 p.m.
Sat: 8 a.m. to 7 p.m.
Sun: 10 a.m. to 3 p.m.

- 7a.m. 28°C - 

It's summer morning,
8 years since then,
I still remember
the scent of that gas
store bought coffee, now
in a new location.
I was 19 at the time but
I felt 30 observing the
passersby, stuck behind
the cash register. 
It's a funny thing,
the memory of my first
job feels hypnotic as if
I never left. The cobwebs
in the corner of every door,
the cold air seeping through
the cracks of the window,
the lightbulb above
the entrance flickering
day and night,
the uneven bricks 
stumbling every insect
and human alike as 
they creep inside and
that same cigarette bud
is still outside the door.
My eyes avert straight
ahead and this tall
tree stares back at me.
Above its branches,
that boy's shoes had
fallen from the tele-
phone wire and rested 
alongside the trunk. 

I always wondered,
"why did he never 
come back?"
I realized something,
"why did I always
stay behind?"

Just as the shoes
were tarnished by
the years so did I.
That boy stayed
young as I aged
along the years. 
Now, the cleaners
shut down and
I'm forced to leave.
I take off my shoes
and hang them on
that same telephone
wire. I wave the tree
goodbye and dissipate
into the air with
the once lit cigarette
and that boy from
many winters ago

2.19.18 ~ 6.30.26

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