Poem: Dawdling

Walking up to the crosswalk
I think about dawdling & how it drives
Keelin mad when I slow down to gawk or miss a turn.

The light turns green and before I step
From the curb, I stop one second
And think about Winnemucca, Saksatoon, and Walla Walla

And how those dawdling episodes
Are precious moments
That may have saved our bacon,

Keeping us seconds away from the car
That blew through the red light
The rock dropped from the overpass,

Or the one in a billion
Gargoyle that peeled from the tower
And tumblied on to the sidewalk.

Walking on the other side of the street,
I think about William Blake coloring prints.
I stop to look in the junk store window

With two mannequins propping each other up,
Old telephones, movie projectors and motherboards.
I wonder if those moments are lost at all,

But lifetimes gained exploiting synchronicity—
Where all this is that and every step
Taken or not taken counts—

Because everyone I love is here,
In one piece, with a smile in our hearts,
A pulse, and a steady heartbeat.
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