Alan Pearson Poetry

March morning, spitting rain
and a blustery wind wakes me from dreams.
I'm reluctant to re-enter life
but, on Good Morning America, world sores
that will not heal are cheerfully
enumerated in television technicolor.

Breakfast...and the rain outside
does not subdue cheep harmony
of irrespressible birds -
just in from foreign parts.

For half an hour, I stroll
the familiar urban kaleidoscope.

On the street corner
A construction crater's massive mouth
holds a khaki pool of dimpling water.
A smudged gull floats uncertainly

Idling taxis and pickups
outside the Princess Donut cafe
hold silent men; they drink their coffee
from a paper cup and,
through rolled-down windows,
view rolling clouds
and do not ask where they are going.

At the rumbling railway bridge I reflect
on wet boxcars, they leave the city,
eager for prairies, lakes and trees.
On such a day I have a fancy
to jump aboard this rolling stock, and go...

A secretary who has been avoiding eye lock
for a year, pouts shapely lips and passes;
a blustery wind catches her scarf and it waves
like the pennant on a skimming yacht
of wanderlust.


	Walk to Work




	March morning, spitting rain and a blustery wind wakes me from dreams. I'm reluctant to re-enter life but, on Good Morning America, world sores that will not heal are cheerfully enumerated in television technicolor. Breakfast...and the rain outside does not subdue cheep harmony of irrespressible birds - just in from foreign parts. For half an hour, I stroll the familiar urban kaleidoscope. On the street corner A construction crater's massive mouth holds a khaki pool of dimpling water. A smudged gull floats uncertainly Idling taxis and pickups outside the Princess Donut cafe hold silent men; they drink their coffee from a paper cup and, through rolled-down windows, view rolling clouds and do not ask where they are going. At the rumbling railway bridge I reflect on wet boxcars, they leave the city, eager for prairies, lakes and trees. On such a day I have a fancy to jump aboard this rolling stock, and go... A secretary who has been avoiding eye lock for a year, pouts shapely lips and passes; a blustery wind catches her scarf and it waves like the pennant on a skimming yacht of wanderlust.