It was the trolley
that whizzed in my mind, uphill. But impossibly so - to stand our buffet - encompassing cartons of food, daring a spatula to embark on down the steep crevasse. Sitting down was a rice container, pools of water near the banks to defy fog racing with my neighbor, fellow traveler, who forces their tires to idle in darkness. I can make the mist sunny, hot, as it drenches tobacco white cartons, tan, beige cylinders - conduits really for this train - no screeching but obtuse angles that dare me to leap. I grazed these streets as a professional - streetwise this concrete was not hard to bargain with for a slice of happiness. Gone is the fog, personally rebuking this trifle of electric brakes. It is sunny. Yes. Happiness is enough for a street sign so gripping, my hand - so Olympic that a trial will defy gravity - to train for this would not be fair or lovely. It's free to trust brakes wielded by the pen - and silence. © 2013 Larry Ingram
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Welcome to the poetry web site of Larry Ingram. Larry is a poet, writer and observer of our culture. Categories
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