I don my recently dyed, twice retired,
rebuilt, retro camel coat. My hands,
rigid from cold, neck pressed warm
against cloth once fashionably puke green.
Ears like TV antennas are alert for
sounds of sandy crunch on cement steps.
The ones that made the flats
of my palms and knees bleed
when I tripped over my own
damn feet, shoelace untied.
There was no pride in that
humbling free fall.
My awkward stance sucked all
thoughts of romance like paint
needed to upscale the
rusted white lattice rail he used
to scale. I listen, watch, wait,
impatience my best know trait.
I’m too cold to move and I’m
counting on a full moon tonight.
—
Ronda Miller, a Life Coach whose clients have lost someone to suicide or homicide, has poetry at The Smithsonian Art Institute, transformed as art, online, in BEGIN AGAIN: 150 Kansas Poems, To The Stars Through Difficulties, Going Home: Poems from My Life, and in documentary The 150th Reride of The Pony Express. She is a Kansas girl.
The Zingara Project 