Green Peas at Stake

Morning Stroll (April-Poetry month-Dew Drop 3)

Morning Stroll

My lungs wave the red
flag. I stop and wheeze
near an Areca palm and
inside gray matter’s cavern,
as I replenish the recall
of walking distance and glance
at passers-by with faces like
vigil candles burning
long and slow;
then the sudden rain
etches on the momentary wind
your name.