|
Asking A Lot |
It's not asking much, this pause,
but it's asking a lot. A bit
of fragrance I can take with me
is not much to sell. Perhaps we
could barter. The pause at the light
isn't much, as long as we're not
rushing somewhere. Imagine if there
were a true emergency. Waiting
for the check isn't much, as the server
lingers left and right, as if she's
forgotten who we are, where we sit,
but imagine if we were hurried
in this life, imagine if the clock really
were ticking, the hands hanging over
us in visible dimensions.
An audible clicking noise each passing
moment. Each passing time.
copyright 2016
JD
DeHart |
