Thinking on tomorrow
A host of possible outcomes
They settle not on my mind,
But amidst the hara
Deep breaths expel
the negative remnants of the lesser me
Like November leaves they fly,
And the clarity of fall fills my soul
One good suit in the back of my closet
hides like the doe in the oaken grove
I drape it over and imagine buckskin—
A cloak of confidence in a threatening world
An overpriced tie, all stripes and paisleys
The salesman said it was for “power”
I’m not naïve to believe all that is implied
God and I will make my own destiny
A rust bucket of a truck,
sails over the glassy sea of tarmac
I wonder if it will start
when I am to make my victorious return.
What does it matter after all
whether or not I am to succeed?
I would disappear into the shadows
of a world not confronted by the burden of achievement
Is a measure of devaluing currency
worth a lifetime of treading concrete?
Loam between bare toes appeals to
the untamed and unwashed self
When I speak to the interviewer
with words intended to persuade
I wonder if it is not society
who has in the end beguiled me?
