he’s a tumble weed

Lastexit_front_smallhe’s a tumble weed

this rootless man

moving

like a migrating bird

changing cities as easily as another
might switch coffee mugs or find a new cafe
with a different baker for pastries and
a different source for roasted beans

as if life

might change

at a new address
or on the single quaff of a new brew,
as if he could find himself in the
company of strangers, of unknown neighbors
sitting at anonymous tables
in silent camaraderie with smart phones and tablets

he sits, stares

looking past – not at – his iPad

a woman walks by, shoots a smile
into the dark heart of his alienation

he receives it
like a dying man receives chest compression,
a jump-start to his imagination and he could
envision her that night, looking at the same
moon as he, mooning over the same stars and
revisiting dreams once thought dead

© 2013, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved; photo courtesy of Moss Will via Wikipedia under CC BY  (attribution) 3.0 license