fRidAy the fifTH

__________
Last
Fri
day
__________

No Rain, but suspect-
Proof in puddles and reflection of trickery.
Blind Melons for breakfast and my pocket (left) alone. Cheese and tomatoes take me.The last formality of a Friday,
in that space.

Down the stairs of slip, six. A bid of hopes of good and rush the usual way. The previously known to be- usual day.

Further disillusioned.. distracted.. cavity of resilience.
I finally remembered that word.

Resilience.

It sinks and stinks.
Familiar faces at the place so many times I stood a wait.
The usual woman.

Jet black hair, faux fur hat-shopping bags.
Long face-kind heart.
Like Tia Francesca. The bigger of the three.
I've noticed-her partial run across street...
Two-stride high. Knees..

Mother and son again-on the bone-she slept through a blockbuster. Hit. Me. In the face with

small beauties.

The patter of the droplets atop the bin.

The new absence of the wobbly brick.
That same school boy. Many times before.

Fish marketeers with treasures...
Not quite a Yogi float, but tolerate. Wait?
None for green.

Poles.. seats.
hear headphone cord.. Bright against the black drop
me off any time between here and now.
Calmly she sits, eyes closed. Hands crossed. Hair in place. She exudes calmness.
A porcelain doll... neural connection to Baby Blue.

And those blue eyes...

Blink.
Pink. Sheet on clothing line.. like a first bubble blown after several chews..

A first whistle lifting me from the extra gravity upon my mass.

I ride on and I hum that tune.