Bum Smoke

Daniel Alvarado

And you’re sitting
in the middle of a park
belonging to a town square,
and you’re surrounded.

The ‘want to do’,
the stare of idleness.
The surrounding over burying themes
of activity
among the carefully placed lighting
of advertisement posters,
and in the
exhaustingly clean
window panes
of corner to corner
convenience.
The lack of purpose.

In a moment of reflection
comparison
is a terrible thing,
pretty chattering faces
saying perhaps nothing,
in moments of
temporary holiday,
solitary demise,
and then there’s silence.

Some days
are spent like
matches
struck off in a breeze
in an attempt to
light up
but flicker out
before one
could get to the subject.