Sunday Morning Rush

Early morning, dark and dreary,
my bones are tired, my mind is weary.
Been up all night for my day of work,
now I'm greeting people with a playful smirk.
A coffee for her, some smokes for him,
I can feel my smirk become a grin.
They come and go at their own pace,
some sluggish and slow, others like they're in a race.
The movement's constant in my little store
and though I ache, I yearn for more,
for to touch a life, though briefly, true,
can brighten any day, when I'm feeling blue.

The Morning Shift, or Gas Station Revery

It's dark still.
That'll change quickly, I remind myself as my coworker begins his westward walk home.
I see him silhouetted
against the dark orange hues of the sun hinting that it will soon rise
to start the day.  I slowly realize that I'm one of the few people awake in my quiet little town.
There's not even a car coming from the usually busy highway,
yet somehow, all around me the world is coming to life.
Eagerly, I await the inevitable
flow of customers, but still manage to find contentment
in the handful of little sounds that will, in one or two short hours be drowned out
by the sounds of traffic and people, and they're always
in a hurry.

Days like this have become far too rare.  Often, I too am far too hurried
and up far too late to appreciate the gentle chirps of a nearby robin
as I watch the day begin.
Though I feel my soul has been born anew
from these moments of peace,
I can't help but feel slightly melancholy
as I crush out my cigarette
and walk back into the store to greet the day's first customer.

The More Things Change

It was almost time to wake.
The smell of coffee seeped through the door to the hut.
As I stood my post,
All of my sleeping fellows behind me,
I felt empty.
It was an emptiness that enveloped, and consumed
me as if a fog had rolled in over my soul.
Despite the rovers pacing the highway
as they counted seabags, footlockers, rifles, and recruits in their racks
all secure,
I still felt alone.


I read her letter
one
more
time,
wishing,
hoping
that it would somehow fill the void
she had left
me with in those two letterless weeks.


I read her words,
I read our song,
the music still ringing in my ears.
I could smell her moisturizer on her silken skin.
mango. it filled my mind so much that I could feel her pressed against me,
drenched in sweat as we lay naked in her bed.


THUD!


My log book slammed on the desk, jolting 
me back to reality
from the glorious delusion in which I had become entrapped.


I looked up at my furious Drill Instructor,
the faintest hint of a smug smirk creeped across my face.
Suddenly, I praised the injury I had so often cursed.


A broken home, and a broken dream
saved me from my own indescretion.
I reported my post and fell
back into despair.