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Date Posted:21:02:30 11/17/01 Sat Author Host/IP: whv-ca5c-143.rasserver.net/199.182.119.143
I walked down
To the seven-eleven
Got a cola
A pack of smokes
And a six-pack
Walked over to the counter
Paid the guy,
And waited while he made change
For an old 100 dollar bill
Bored,
I imagined myself
Far away from this consumption.
Perhaps,
In London or Paris
Sitting outside
A café
With a cup of coffee
And Shakira,
Her eyes lovingly fixed
On an average man
Full of passion and need.
I’d read to her
From Neruda or Paz or Dario
I’d open my soul
To her for one night
Under undulating stars
And a universe
That has confined me
To average.
Sir, your change!
The man from behind the counter
Yells
I reach out my hand
And it reaches in…reality--
The reality that life rarely delivers
anything close to what one imagines it should.
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