.
The foggy morning veils the nascent sun
I contemplate driving to the beach to listen
To waves crash. I'd like to inhale the marine layer,
And probably fall asleep in a fetal position
So cold outside, yet warm under my camel coat
I think I'd better pass, and drive to get gas
As I exit the fwy., I stop at a red light...
On Riverside Drive. There is an apartment complex
With several lights on at 5:20 in the morning
I wonder how many people are making love at this
Very moment in that building? Or keeping warm
with body heat, entangled limbs, and enveloping arms
I stop at the am/pm station to refuel; I only do so when
The needle claims to be absolutely exhausted and drops
The morning midst refreshes my face; I see a woman
Clutching a coffee cup and a muffin; she walks sleepily
Towards her pick-up truck laden with flower arrangements
Oh shit! I forgot that today is mother's day!
I think that I should go to the wholesale flower market
Yet sleeps threatens to engulf me; Griffith Park is just
adjacent, I could go there and sleep for a bit...yet,
It's too cold, and the midst impedes the sun from rising
As I drive home, I try to think of what to get for a gift
I'm getting sleepy now; my sole focus is on driving straight
The sky is still foggy and dark; I then seem to enter the
Twilight Zone. A van speeds by, almost slapping me with
it's flapping bumper. The whole bumper is loose and
flutters like flowing hair playing with the wind
The word "MARIACHI" is written on its rear window
By its urgency, was he running from something?
My mom is a peculiar sort. She goes to mass everyday for as
Long as I've known. I think she prays for my sins
She decorates her room with posters of saints, and of course of
Christ Himself. One mother's day, I bought her a tall statue
of Mary made of cement. Although her favorite all time
gift was visiting the Holy Land and the Vatican
I'm sure she prays for me, and everyone else she knows
I am at a loss as to what to get besides a peach colored rose
My mind drifts towards the flower vendor clutching her coffee
and muffin. I hope she sells her flowers so they don't waste,
and she makes a profit. My mother makes me feel like a kid
When she calls me nina, and serves me soup minus the chicken
A mother's love is special and unconditional, although I am glad
She does not read my stuff. We're alike and yet so different
She is delicate like a flower, yet strong - I am brash like a bull
I don't think she'd understand where I'm coming from
You see, it is an exorcism of sorts
And a way to cope with the absurdity of life as we know
.
