The laneway smells of sweet clover
Overrun by long timothy
That soaks toes in morning’s walk
Back and forth we go.
Dampness holds its structure
Amidst low hanging overcast clouds
That have lifted only slightly
Since twilight broke them off.
Calmness awaits
Imagination creeps in
Day’s plans unfold
Tracks on the road.
A large laneway spoiled my walk.
It burst open at the seams with
Garbage and decay
That nearly side swiped me
With unbridled consumption.
The laneway confused me
As I contemplated it a while
From the safe sidewalk on Main Street.
It steamed and gurgled and
A faint smell of piss and regret
Hissed at me with a cold bite in the air.
From here, my memory served me well. It reminded me of cannons
And a bazaar in a foreign land
That was purely barbaric,
Entirely rusty and soiled from
Years of neglected abuse.
In my idle moments I watched
Three souls wander the laneway
With as much passion
As one would expect lost souls
From Christ the Redeemer’s
Empathetic sermon to have.
And I was alone, wondering,
Thinking to myself in the 1-2-1 rhythm
Of my left-right-left leather soles
Clip clopping down the lonely laneway
Into obscurity and steam.