it's been
a slow morning.
the wind started early
sweeping away the small stretches of clouds
and leaving dusty blue
for miles and miles
i watch my neighbors
take out the trash
kiss the wife
leave for work.

the old woman to the left
invites me over for coffee
and we talk about
all those years ago
when she was something.
she tells me her stories
of her trips to india
and her cats chasing the rats
that call our houses homes.

she has things to do
and i understand
lying, i say
so do i.

back at home
i wonder
in those years
when i'm old
and i look back
what will i see?

i'm no one special
never really have been.
never been on a trip
never had a great love.
the only stories i have to tell
are of hearbreak
and hard times.
but i guess
someone has to tell
those kinds of stories
t0o.