Still Searching

Searching For A Reason


I will myself to look carefully before a leap;
protection from protruding blunts and jags.

You say my morning coffee is too strong,
and you don’t take cream. You fold the paper
back to arrival condition. It looks unread.

I fight the urge to pull apart section A from B;
look down, and stir the milk storm in my cup.

Such a pity I have discovered this one thing
so early on a Sunday; this creased difference.

And here was I, bringing a night to sunrise;
eager to believe I had finally found Mr. Right.

It’s lucky for me I was paying attention;
attuned to possibilities of impending failure.
Anyway, who bothers to stir black coffee?


Shirley Alexander