shoes made uncomfortable to walk extended periods of time
in order to arrive at undisclosed locations that no one wants to be at
to see and hear things and voices that no one else wants to hear
just to wear the shoes in….
just in the hopes that one day they’ll be comfortable
the radiant gleam of sun highlighting
a disturbed patch of grass by the mail
box, where the mailman got a little sloppy, a little drunk, a little careless in their route
and I’m pretty sure that’s why I don’t have your
correspondence, unless it was just never sent
nausea turns to boredom
breaking aluminum cans as clouds become
sharp serrated points across the dusk
and every synapse becomes expendable, depending on who you ask
Fred Aiken Writing 