outside

on cold, wet, grey,
miserable days
like this one,
as you sip your tea
and browse
the Sunday Times,
and sit snug,
content,
you should think of me,

because I will be thinking of you,

with each soggy footstep,
past each fetid dumpster,
down every forsaken alley,
for now and ever after.



October 18, 2009. From the forthcoming collection, Spoken Rage.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.