in the cool

in the cool

this poet was enjoying the smell of morning

b/c it rained hard last night

and when he woke up the day was quiet, wet;

everything scattered all over,

but the sun came out.

the people gather and talk.

they don't talk about the good ol' days,

they talk about work or golf or how their

daughters play basketball.

but let's take a few to remember the good times

and what we could do to sustain them throughout

the rest of the time we have here.

we can store them up like long lost lovers

in hearshaped lockets, after we've passed.

life. remember that? what a blast that was, eh?

don't really miss it much, though.

well, sometimes i do. i used to

drink coffee on saturday mornings

and eavesdrop on conversations.

yes, the sun comes up and makes humidity unbearable.

in kansas, the humidity is unbearable.

suddenly the music stops. everyone is silent.

we a watch, as a mouse scurries across the restaurant floor.

and a voice says over the intercom:

--THE MOUSE SYMBOLIZES DEATH--

and we all look at each other and say \"ohhhhhh\"

b/c the secret word \"goodbye\" was on the tip of everyone's tongue.

on mornings like these, this poet used to like Coldplay,

and then switch to Alice In Chains--the unplugged cd.

but the sun comes out, and you almost have to

put in Soul Coughing to ward off the hell.

in the cool of the evening, it was Beck.

and then Clutch--to end w/ a bang.