QUICK THOUGHTS

McCain made the wrong choice. I shouldn't care but do. Don't know why I care. There are more important things. I can't think of any. I think of many (Gustav is flooding the once flooded.) that I can't put into a sentence (just did). What's with me tonight (any night)? I'm here (have been here for years). I'm not here (not always present). I think of things that I shouldn't (I'm alone) but can't share. I put headphones on and that helps (other voices, noises) block out the deranged thoughts. It doesn't help. Music makes me think of other things I don't want to think of. I take headphones off. I put them right back on. I put another song on (skip). I start to say things aloud (to myself, to the world). I speak out loud. I picture people from long ago (how long?), images I make up in my mind. I picture myself (not the reflection I find in the mirror), I picture me then (it makes me cringe) and me now (cringe again). I wonder what happened (I know, I didn't know). I wonder what will happen (and I'm frightened). I'm here. I close my eyes and breathe. I think, 'I'm alive. I'm here. I'm now.' This simple thought weighs. It feels like a pulse: Control. Out of control. I don't have control of it. And I worry. And I want. And I wish. And I get depressed. And I'm uncertain. And now my mind has calmed. I'm content to be what I am, where I am. I'm sure. I calm my breathing: In. Out. In. Out. Breathe: Here. Now. Here. Now. Breathe. I close off everyone in proximity. I'm here alone in thought and don't want anyone else around me. This. Sure. Type. Thoughts. But alone. Very. And make 'em public. Whatever public is is. But also private. Thoughts to share.

TO GET TO THE PARK

To get to the park I wake up.
I get out of bed and go downstairs.

And put shoes and socks on, my shoes,
shorts and a sweatshirt this day—it's cool, not hot.

To get to the park I use the bathroom
I drink a pink glass of water.

I put on my dog’s leash, on her collar,
and a plastic bag in my pocket, an indication of Walk.

To get to the park I go out my front door.
and take a right on the sidewalk, our sidewalk.

I pass houses and apartments—my neighbors.
I notice Direct TV satellite dishes.

To get to the park I cross a main street.
I walk to a median, then to the other side and safe.

I pass Subarus for sale, and empty bags of fast food.
I walk to another corner, thinking about last night.

To get to the park I take a left, there.
Roadway not improved, the sign says and I read.

I walk up the sidewalk until it ends.
The gravel road, an overgrown alley seems to make sense to me.

To get to the park I walk three blocks of this.
It will be a surprise if I ever see another soul.

I’ll walk through stop signs, never needing to stop.
(Sometimes for my dog stops to eat some grass or just sniff.)

To get to the park I go through a schoolyard.
It’s like the park: it has grass and playground equipment, basketball courts and soccer goals.

But a bit further is the real park, the one I woke up for.
To get to this park you must get to the park.

EVERYDAY A FAVORITE

The first day there were
Many.

I picked out the biggest
One.

It’s trunk had a stand-in
Cave.

I walked right up to it;
Stood.

My body fit perfect,
In.

The view from there was great
True.

Second time it was a
Root.

That drew me to like a
Bench.

Cause nothing beats a good
Sit.

Little later my butt
Hurt.

Still, I sat and looked out
Wide.

And I could see many
More.

‘Today it’s this one that’s
Mine.’

The next day I’m feeling
Sad.

I go to the park any-
Way.

And pick one to fit my
Mood.

Tall this tree, too, it
Droops.

Branches hang like a hound’s
Cheeks.

A certain amount of
Moss.

Surrounds the circumference
Low.

The bark goes vertical
High.

Willow-like weeping, and
Me.

I walk around every
Day.

And say, this one, this day
You.

When alone I need some-
Thing.

I choose a tree in the
Park.

And make it my own tree,
See.

I walk home; I leave it
There.

Everyday a favorite
Tree.