Parched desert floor.
Today is that rare occurance when the
Throbbing tick that stabs
Takes a lunch break.
Today is a pencil without a broken tip,
Working down to the cold metal cylander
Which signifies that time to retire.
Today is a brief glimps at life for a puppy,
Bissfully jumpy and trembling with joy
At the sight of someone to play with.
Today is that exploding cement truck
On the television screen, surrounded by
Excited, laughing pyro-technitions.
Today is dropping water balloons
On unsuspecting pedestrians, tingling with
The vivid hilarity of the shocked exclaimations.
Today is sitting under an angry squirrel's tree,
The entertaining moment before
That acorn cracks you on the skull.
Tomorrow is another melancholy tock
to accompany the empty tick that
tells you time is, indeed, moving forward.
Tomorrow is the lonely patch of brown grass
In the middle of the lawn, reminded of
It's failure by the surrounding sea of green.
Tomorrow is the promise you knew would break,
The earnest eyes of one saying they
Thought you knew they didn't mean it.
Tomorrow is the sick feeling
You knew you would feel
After the high.
Today is knowing
Tomorrow is knowing
Yesterday
Won't be back.
photograph by Billie Jo G.
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