Rob S. Friedman
May 2021
Exit
The day was as it will be again Quotidian, pedestrian, a bit humid. I could tell, as you are now telling As I am foretelling how thuddingly ordinary It was and is and will be. I was indecisive as I well might be Tenaciously tentative, not a party On two feet, my toe sketching Some inchoate premonition in the sand An effort to keep ennui at bay. The broken, pebbled, used-to-be grassy grounds Continue to spawn weeds despite The foot traffic becoming Even more obnoxious as the East End Turns, like me, intense, perturbed, hasty. All this amid the constancy of the ocean tide Breakers of all sizes and valances Pitching against the bland, hard-pack sand That catches some water And tosses some back.
Rob S. Friedman 