some days, more than I would like,
I wake up and think of Jude.
I feel the pain,
but can’t take the sad song and make it better.
I am too quick to anger.
too busy, parrying bullets of anxiousness.
you cannot reach me,
though I am not at all sure if I am worth reaching.
I have made you exhaust your bag of tricks,
and now, we sit. we sit. I cannot…..
I must go for a walk. I won’t be long, okay?
Watch your hockey game. Feed the cats chips.
it’s cold, and I didn’t bother with the woolies tonight.
I download that step counter, then head out the door.
Brisk, brisk, keep that pace brisk, like the doc said.
The doc that wouldn’t sign me into the gym.
I courageously or foolishly decide to take the long route.
forty eight hundred and ninety five steps.
something to proudly enter into my blood pressure log book.
all that I see and hear tonight
presents itself to me in the grey light of negativity.
aggressive dogs barking from behind fences.
someone detained by the Police. They are crying.
an escalating domestic quarrel for all to hear.
further along, a bunch of young toughs competing for belligerence.
their vile dialog making them big men in the schoolyard.
I remember there’s something I need at the store.
I stop there to take a breath and warm up.
there’s a lady behind the cash, my own age I think,
and I feel that she sees me, more than I would like to be seen.
there are people behind me waiting, but she wants to chat me up,
touch her little glow of kindness to me.
Christ, If I had had a business card with my number,
I would have slipped it to her.
a few blocks to go, and there is a screech of tires, then screaming.
a girl’s dog has run off leash and been run over.
she is bent over, crying so hard she is gagging.
someone is trying to comfort her.
I go to the small group that are trying to help the animal.
but he is dead, the darkness oozing from his eyes.
I do not know what to do.
How was the walk?
Cold, I say.
Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on Spillwords.com, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.