Another day spent inside,
barely glancing out the window
to my lovely alley view
of man-made prison-cell offices
and maybe a blue sky overhead
(but I won't bother to check)…
and some days it concerns me
that I might be wasting my life
here, or missing opportunities
in this great grand world;
but I concede that it's warmer
inside than out, and content myself
with reading poetry by a man
who hated my suburbia
and railed against those
who were so complacent.
I understand his views, but I
am only halfway there.
You can keep your dynamite
ideas, James – I am fine
with digging myself out of this
hole, one spoonful at a time,
slow and steady 'til my hair
turns tortoise-shell, and I can
break free of life, sanity, love,
all in a single instant.
Guess what – there is a little
blue peeking out from
that mostly overcast sky.

TMK 9sept2007


A/N: The reference is to James K. Baxter, a New Zealand poet.