P.S. in Real Time

Today: one more day before last day … 27 of 28.

Last night’s poetry under the banyan

by the bay

against an orange sunset

murmurs breathed in like fine alterations of ordinary mind

accepted as a writer so well that this morning’s let-down sent me back to bed

breakfast in a new place

with onions in the scramble & peppers

coffee dark enough to curl my short, straight hair

so much to savor: shaken awake from early stupor

watching:

skinny girls with water bottles tall as their torsos

the undulant unhoused cycling by, laden like camels, stocking caps pulled over their ears

listening:

the conversation of strangers behind me comparing eateries

all tourists, for the natives keep silent, having heard it all before

Finishing:

I glance at the watch I no longer wear

then at the light outside

I pick myself up & I go.