Time and circumstance exposed their twisted bodies,
Not caring to ask if I were ready.
I didn’t ask to empathize or recognize a feeling,
That may be leaving as soon as I taste it.
I didn’t ask to be something the wind could have it’s way with,
Someone that hangs on a word and can be debilitated by a look.
I remember welcoming the ground, in search of pennies on the sidewalk.
The way my granny taught me to.
If I had a care, I didn’t feel it there or where it ought be.
All of my concern was in getting back home,
because my feet grew tired,
and my eyes weary of the sandstone;
I wasn’t ready to not stare at the ground.
Somewhere on the dismembered pavement,
I grew up,
looked up,
to see someone locking eyes on the same track,
something was felt and I cannot give it back.
I wish I could.
This feeling,
that I surely did not inherit,
is not interested in my betterment.
I want to be a grifter.
jingle my cup,
make a quick buck,
and say good luck to any fool who dare give me that stare,
that screams for me to give it back.
Because I won’t.
After the last one who dared,
I can’t say I want to be paired,
Impaired,
lost in a circular pool of equivocations and ambiguity.
Forward not backward,
Trusting that I can trust trust.
Or I can trust the sidewalk,
since it will not cease to be,
like you or her or him or me.
I much rather look for pennies,
knowing they won’t look back.