1 Train 116th Street to 72nd street, April 2nd 2014
I first noticed his bright orange socks. A poet! He laughed through the entire poem. I did too. He’s a lawyer. “Business matters…” His son and daughter urge him to write.
I travel the No. 1 train
to decompress.
Decompress from what you
ask?
The follies of not being
in control and having to leave
matters to the winds of fate.
Like paying $90 to send an
overnight package by federal
express to Trinidad.
Only to have the package
stranded 2-1/2 hours away
from its destination.
“Every time, on time,”
well, just doesn’t hold
up for Fed Exp and its
myth-inducing “castaway”
perceptions.
So, I decompress
I let go.
I allow the cosmos to
guide me…
So I don’t suffer a stroke
over things I cannot control.