what was that? is that all there is? who is this? this is it.

breakfast at Denny’s
lunch at McDonald’s
dinner in the shadow of the Space Needle
in the rusting relics of the space age
in the remnants of the Worlds Fair
in the fading naugahyde and in the draperies
in the Tropics Motor Inn
in the optimistic outlook   of
a small-town tourist in the city
as to me I know of nothing else but miracles
thirty years later and still three minutes away
from the grit the grime the guts
from Bill and Melinda Gates
from buildings built by Yamasaki
from another    from the other    reality
from fishing  to logging   to Boeing
the lanes  the lines  the habit trails
the mom & pops  the elevator banks
the jobs well done   the firm handshakes
the fermenting ketchup married bottle to bottle
the unused potential        the unused potential
the second-day socks  soaked     
seeking what used to be   looking to see what they saw
or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky
looking over my shoulder
looking toward the monorail  
looking up at the Space Needle
looking as far as the left turn signal
looking as far as a redshirt kindergartener
looking as far as   by- then- it- will- be- better

3 Comments

Lookin' good Gigo, and Sayin' Whasssup...

That Sir, was good.

the tropics and Walt Whitman. Who'd have ever thought. I still feel about the same as the time trying to get to there on Aurora with the cement down the middle. You -- on the other hand -- seem to be finding a way right over the berm. (berm may be burm but berm looks like the right shape) Keep up the writing, riding, right turning.

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