Love untitled No. 8

A sign rattles in the wind, back and forth, creaking all the way announcing dreams awaiting inside without a dollar to
spare but pockets lined with vague promises of more

Dust is married to the gusts as it swirls, rushes and moves
clothes off the lines into nearby brush, dirty, like chapped
lips screaming between the cracked bleeding splotches

It is just a street after all with all the standard features
such as doors, windows, shades, shoppers looking
for the final sale to make all wrong, finally right

Wouldn’t that be nice, we all say to ourselves to finally
have right before wrong but it is just a street and we know
this, deep in our bone marrow that right will not happen

We go forth in any event to discover the solution is still
out of reach, hidden behind the clouds of illusion because
we need the deception to forge onward, even stumbling

But pushing forward keeps us believing the street will finally
deliver on the vow of happiness that we’ve been indoctrinated
into the purchasing process of buying and more buying

For isn’t it in the buying that makes all things possible where
ever-present isolation once so prevalent now is replaced with
another being of life surrounded by garlands around the neck

This frenetic pace leaves us wanting, wanting for more in the
shroud of love. And then we stop. The sign once rattling is silent.
The street once bustling is empty. Yet, all is right in a real way.

Yes, all is right. The sign agrees as it breaks anchor and falls
gracefully to the ground where two lovers find it, dust it off,
and place it in a safe location for its own protection.


About stevewhitmore

Former award-winning newspaperman and broadcast journalist, both radio and TV, spanning three decades. Army-trained paralegal, court bailiff and prosecutor's lead investigator for the 8th Infantry Division's Judge Advocate General's Corp., Mainz, Germany. 1973-1975.
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