Moving Images
It’s the simple things
we seem to miss
a walk around the block
the neighbors flowers
a joke that’s only ours
The things we seem to forget
when life gets in the way
in a hurry to be angry
no wonder you can’t see
Moving images
that you call life
no way to focus
wait
Were that roses?
I remember exactly where I was when I wrote this poem. It was at a coffee shop in Quito, the capital of Ecuador. I was sitting outside with a Chai Latte and a brownie. Cars were driving by, people were walking fast and a couple was arguing in the distance. A man was walking his dog, pulling his leash and trying to get him to walk faster, but he stood still. Sniffing the roses.
