I wrote a thousand words today
none of them made much sense
they landed on the page
like fragile flakes
off a fluffy French pastry
butter croissant

what I wrote
read like a poetical manifesto
I blamed the media
for the lack of iambic pentameter
the church for the lack of irony
and school boards
for the lack of imagery

I wrote about “Jesus”
that guy who used to stand
at the corner of Bathurst and Queen
shouting at the top of his lungs
announcing the second coming
save yourselves, he screamed

an hour later
he’d be sitting in Starbucks
reading the wall street journal
sipping a double mocha latte

I wrote about your mother
that brilliant, beautiful woman
who was crazy as a loon

I wanted to pay homage
to her memory
so, I wore three bodega skirts
and four sweaters
my unkempt, unwashed tangled hair
hanging like a shroud
over my face

I wandered down
to the financial district
sat cross-legged against a wall
a block from the TSX building

for five dollars I would read
tarot cards for the baby-faced
investment brokers
headed into work
the cards, I said, would tell them
what stocks would overperform
this quarter

they gathered around me
leather briefcases clutched
to their chests
breathless at each turn
of the card

until the cops came
asking to see my license
they would escort me gently
down the street
not wishing to offend
the mad woman
who had predicted the crash
of ‘09

I loved your mom
there were times
I wanted to be her
wanted to climb inside her
and witness the world
through her eyes
especially when she sat at her desk
writing a thousand words a day