sidewalk scribbling

The sun is bright today,  Top right corner Of my window.  It's keeping pace,  Like a competitive jogger In bright yellow trainers It's quiet on the bus today, Like a museum For adults, Or an expensive exhibition  For somber (but obvious) Art lovers Quiet -  Except for the music notes That escape from a young lady's Subtle white headphones. Would you feel a connection If she were listening To your second favorite song In the world? If you look hard enough And squint your eyes Just a bit And let your mind Breathe - You can see the thoughts In people's heads (mostly blond But some brunettes)  "Was it a mistake To not iron my shirt  Today Tommy actually ate his breakfast Thank god Just one more day  Of work Of family, of love Unmade beds and dirty dishes Maybe he will wash them Without me asking Today"

The start of a new year is like moving into a new apartment.  You think of all the things you could do with the new space … two, three, no – FOUR potted plants by the window, framed art on the walls, an off-white sofa because all of Pinterest and Instagram shows that black, white, gray and maybe a gentle splash of pastel pink or powder blue is what’s rocking the world of likes and hearts.  And then you get overwhelmed with all the ideas and then you realize you don’t have the money for that world of likes and hearts (stick to the cream-colored coffee cups and artistically arranged books, lady). The start of a new year, then, maybe, is like the start of a long class.  You walk into it all bright and fresh and determined, tossing away a finished cup of strong tea and settle down onto a gray seat.  You whip out your striped notebook, open a new page, write a neat title in the center and start taking notes.  In the beginning your writing is tidy and you cont...