Saturday, July 28, 2012

The trouble with omens

The signs along this road
Makes no sense to me
Pointing this way and that
My road map no longer valid
Since none of these highways
Are on it.
We live in a world filled
With portends and omens
A crow’s cry from a high branch
Warning me of some danger
I can never see
A fish flop on the river top
Telling of some good event
I must attend
But never the address
Or as time I should arrive
I’m always arriving too soon
Or too late
The uncomfortable guest
Standing on the front stoop
Before any of the other guests
Have arrived,
Struggling to make up
Conversation to fill the time
Or too late when all the good talk
Has been expired
And I am left alone in the corner
An unacknowledged wall flower
Trying to pick out new omens
Off the wall paper
Or make out where the back door is
So I can make my escape,
I ache to read the signs
Before they ceased
To mean anything meaningful.

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