Wouldn’t Dream Of It

I don’t speak up in time

so my friend sails past

my parking garage and onto

a ferry.  Once in this strange

city, I try to buy

a subway pass

to get home,  in a haze

a dazed look as I sit

for a photo but I move

too slowly in this fast-paced

place and their cameras

fail to focus on my face

at leisure.  They keep

changing the goal posts,

now I must walk so their

software can recognize

my gait.  They want to spot

me a mile away

and the photographer takes no

enjoyment from this probe

of my legwork. We all feel

we don’t belong.  It’s not sane

to consider

suicide just because I’m lost.

They say I can smile

but that’s a lie

my forced showing of teeth

wakes me.  A red-winged

blackbird flutters her yellow

stripe on the dock.

It’s spring, another chance.

Two wrens build a nest

together chirping a promise

of another way, weaving tiny

insignificant pieces

into a welcome.

Inspired by Enjoyment, Leisure, Post and Haze.

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Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

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