Just Another Morning?

Just Another Morning?
R. Milian

Rainy morning walking to my car half asleep.
My memory guides me like a seeing eye dog


I balance my coffee and briefcase on one hand, as the other one
Searches in my pocket for the car key buried among candy, pens, paper clips, and coins.

Inside my car, a mood of coldness wraps me up. I stare at the lifeless street except for a bird up on a tree.

Ignoring the uninteresting day’s rhythm, it pops in and out of his tree hole carrying pieces of wood with his beak throwing them at the wind, as my mind quickly races to Bob Dylan’s famous
line, “ the answer my friend is blowing in the wind.”

Inside the car, I stare at the bird once again doing his job diligently, as I search for my answer in the wind.