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Published on January 12, 2009 By Buddah Moskowitz In Poetry

The world is vacant

this early Sunday morning

 

except for the newspaper deliverer

 

and the liquor store

and the customer who waited for 6am.

 

Mostly people are inside

sleeping off hangovers

 

slumbering in a warm bed

of post-coital narcosis

 

lone desperation

passed out at a kitchen table

splayed with overdue bills

and trepidation.

 

Some greet the day with reluctance

some will ride bikes

and some will never know

Sunday morning exists.

 

As I drive my daughter

to the early church service

I pass stray tumbleweeds

the occasional roaming coyote

and a multitude of other

holy beings,

all unaware

that it is Sunday morning

or that it is January

or that it is 2009

 

but they are completely alive.

 

They are also ignorant

of their enviable

 

blissful

 

silent

 

existence.


Comments
on Jan 13, 2009

but they are completely alive.

 

They are also ignorant

of their enviable

 

blissful

 

silent

 

existence.

This is something we all long for, I think.  Not so much the ignorance, but certainly the freedom that goes with it.  Well done again, mate.  Great food for thought.

on Jan 14, 2009

You really oughta consider bein' a runner dude! There's nothing like lonesome Sunday Mornings out there with the coyotes and tumbleweeds in blissful ignorance while all and sundry sleep in, ya dig?

 

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