anytime the sky is crying
I’ll be damned if I had good
reason chasing any fool thing
for a pat on the back
or some sort of medal that later
winds up in the river
I’ll be damned if I knew
what I’d do next
if I didn’t have money
to pay the rent
At least I got enough scratch
to frequent the Irish district
twice or thrice a week
swapping sailor stories
with make-believe monsters
who never remember your name
Chasing any fool thing at least
gives a man a little hope
like a little piece of sunshine
stuffed inside his pocket
never understanding its power
until it’s almost too late
december two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
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