What do you think?

Whenever I ask about the weather

She looks at her phone.

Whenever I ask if there are clouds in the sky,

She looks at her phone.

Whenever I ask her opinion

I think I’m watching television.

The Road

I used to be ready to join whatever came along.

And what used to come along were people like me,

People whose strings had come unstrung;

Mapless – like Hansel and Gretel chasing crumbs by a translucent glass dividing life and middle class’

Flickering out to highways like galaxies in a dark night’s sky.

The Underground

and her own mind
Desolate and wild as the wind.

Faces along the east-west subway

Faces I didn’t know were there

Till the TTC planned a trip for me

Up a path where wind bites,  blowin’

To Maine where motorized lame keep comin’ and goin’.

Passed imploring arms, out from the walk at a wall.

And a lady screaming she wants to be  left alone

With bags on her arms transfixed under heaven;

And her life

 And her own mind

Desolate and wild as the wind.

Guarding the underground: a man displaying coins in a stack pleasantly solicits more.


Weather

Sun wallowing bellow the horizon

You drove against our first torrent of snow;

Snow that outlasted a mid-winter thaw

Then icy rains that sealed it into slippery mounds,

Until now: a week before spring.

Waking plants keep trying to see the sun.

 

 

 

Dundas and Spadina

In China Town’s

Teaming, sun-steamed streets,

Oriental ladies

Trundle

Chinese-charactered plastic bags

Weighted strait down

To their shuffle stepping feet

Under eyes as implacable as stars.

Now comes spring

Hear it ring against the walk:

April’s spray

Splashing tender shoots to summer roots,

Rising green on blue,

And waving warm in a glory of gliding gold.