What Gets Done When The Day Is Broken

The day was off to a slow start

I just can’t seem to get today together

I went through a normal morning routine,

But no great plans were set in motion

So I filled the day with mundane tasks

I went to the market,

Stared at the pretty housewives,

And bought a bunch of shit which looked like a good idea,

But when I got home,

None of it sounded appealing

I thought a trip to the park would do the trick

The one with the dog park inside

There’s usually a bunch of women and their puppies,

Good sights and tomfoolery

But not today —

Just an old man who smelled of piss,

And his mangled mutt,

Which, by his looks alone,

Probably didn’t smell much better

So I sat there and tried to write,

But today was not turning out,

The next great American poem

From there, I walked by the club,

Maybe a cocktail and shoot some pool,

Maybe a game of bocci, maybe horseshoes,

But I was told the usual crowd, my friends,

All packed up early, and called it a day

“Maybe you should do the same?”, asked the bargirl

And I can take a hint,

Especially when it’s been staring me down,

All day long

So I came home, made dinner,

And wrote you this

Sorry it wasn’t better,

But this is about as good,

As my day has been

© Dicky J Loweman 2015



A Not So Well Thought Out Plan

I arrived around 2:00pm

I caught two different busses

Making my way,

Counting city blocks,

Until I reached the end

The end of the line

The beautiful Atlantic

That brilliant, blue ocean

I had never been in this town before

And although I was here for the ocean,

I was hardly finished with my travels

I had two friends meeting me

They had sailed up the coast

To pick me up

And carry us all

Out into the blue abyss

I knew them from my travels past,

Meeting one in Florida,

And traveling all over Colorado

With the other

We were a crafty group

Known for trouble

And always looking for more

But reliability

hasn’t always been our greatest strength

And we had failed to work out a plan

Of exactly how

This pick-up would go down

So now I wait on a park bench,

Just staring out at the ocean inlet

I write short poems to pass the time

But time seems to have forgotten me

Maybe it just got lost,

Like my friends

So I’m just sitting here, looking out

Humming an old Bob Dylan tune,

And ‘waiting for my ship to come in’

© Dicky J Loweman 2015