Each day going to work
clumps and clumps like
needing a good shave
rag, broom and dust pan
mop and bucket
to break the chain the
hum drum of bills in the
mailbox, and maybe going
out to dinner, then sleeping
shorter than a shooting
star it seems, the same
sun that sun I awake to
pull my belt tight and out
the door with a mug of
coffee that says
Charleston good to the
last drop, a vacation much
needed paid for with grit
and grime, spit and polish.
A shining sea on the battery
like the rainbow houses.
