2000

The first in a row
of parallel train cars
from a tightly packed set
placed back in its pack
once the holidays were through.
Stored on a floor
of gravel, ice and mud.
The air conditioner’s hunchback
protrudes from a window,
and serves as a shelf for snow.
It slowly keeps falling.
The porch sports grass
that never grows
but wears out slowly.

I dwell inside this box
of dissonance thinking
this might be one of my last
nights. Not knowing if I’m
ready for my relationship
with these walls and the city
that taxes them to change.
I contemplate this chance
to work and to thrive
in a climate that’s rarely cold,
yet always Christmas.
Does this purported paradise surpass
free coffee, free food, free mechanic,
and those who greet me daily,
all about to be forsook?

With divided mind I pray for a sign
of whether its time to leave this place
behind. Then sleep falls upon me.
Ice falls upon the earth (later
to be masked by a deceitful
thick blanket of snow). I awaken
in indecision, start toward
my car to take my racing
thoughts for a ride. I slip
off the fake grass and fall
baptized into the cold
reality of what is left
for me here.

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