deepundergroundpoetry.com
20 minutes
Morning dew kisses my face
my 5am journey begins.
Entering the market to feed body and soul
I laugh at my peculiar ways.
A strong disdain for waiting in lines
fuels my early shopping foray.
Adeptly choosing a seedless watermelon
along with bags of spinach and carrots,
my adventure meets living history.
Most days I am the youngest shopper
as the others putt putt in motorized carts
or stroll a buggy as if enjoying a sunday ride
through the neighborhoods.
Then it happens, everytime.
A woman waiting for assistance
to retrieve an item out of reach
perhaps a man lost in translation
navigating the aisles of confusion.
Initially the startle as I gently bid adieu,
quickly morphs to smiles
hearing the soft southern drawl,
seeing past the flowing hair.
Stories of my children,
A dad proud and warm
opens the flood of memories
these seniors starve to share.
Twenty minutes is the usual
at times less or more.
Eyes alive with detail
explode through words of love.
Simple ticktock of eternity
these minutes slip into sleep.
Leave me grinning at myself,
my fickle nature shed of weight.
What is it about my mind
cringing to wait in lines
yet never a "lost" moment
as I dance with people of worth.
They are the forgotten of life
deemed "production innui"
Vast wealth of breath; jejune
we will be "they" one day.
my 5am journey begins.
Entering the market to feed body and soul
I laugh at my peculiar ways.
A strong disdain for waiting in lines
fuels my early shopping foray.
Adeptly choosing a seedless watermelon
along with bags of spinach and carrots,
my adventure meets living history.
Most days I am the youngest shopper
as the others putt putt in motorized carts
or stroll a buggy as if enjoying a sunday ride
through the neighborhoods.
Then it happens, everytime.
A woman waiting for assistance
to retrieve an item out of reach
perhaps a man lost in translation
navigating the aisles of confusion.
Initially the startle as I gently bid adieu,
quickly morphs to smiles
hearing the soft southern drawl,
seeing past the flowing hair.
Stories of my children,
A dad proud and warm
opens the flood of memories
these seniors starve to share.
Twenty minutes is the usual
at times less or more.
Eyes alive with detail
explode through words of love.
Simple ticktock of eternity
these minutes slip into sleep.
Leave me grinning at myself,
my fickle nature shed of weight.
What is it about my mind
cringing to wait in lines
yet never a "lost" moment
as I dance with people of worth.
They are the forgotten of life
deemed "production innui"
Vast wealth of breath; jejune
we will be "they" one day.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 3
reading list entries 0
comments 6
reads 827
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.