Usual table, but I’ve shifted to the right
by an inch or two so that today
the park click on its red pole’s just in sight,
bathed in sun and seen through square glass plates
that en employee’s cleaning.
A dog and his human do the Beatles cover,
crossing the white-striped street, the dog barefoot.
I sip iced coffee thinking summer’s over,
pondering what I’ve done and what I could’ve
with work and less daydreaming.
The too-large glass of gin I drank at bedtime
has dulled my brain; I knew it was a mistake,
but I had to quell the anxious ache
of knowing that from free days of this kind
myself I must be weanig.
But I go up despite my mild depression
to restore balance with a yoga session.
A few days yet
ro hope and regret.
Copyright 2015
T. Allen Culpepper
Poetry When It Comes 