(C) 2021 by Howard Dart Humeston
The crisp breeze blows dry leaves into a spiral
scattering them down the road
as life had twisted my dried out soul
nudging me down that same
death laden path.
At my age so many of life’s diversions
have evaporated, expired.
Romance, sex, sport, aspirations and goals
All that endures is the cold wooden slats of
the park bench.
I suck frosty air into my lungs,
exhaling grey fog as I lift my head skyward.
Shredded inky clouds scratch the blue sky,
pigeons dance naked by my feet.
I sip the hot rich coffee
as the sun’s golden light seeps through the trees
And I smile.
I still have coffee.