A Saturday Poem

He wrote her a note in a bottle
Scrawled in peacock ink
Of language that would make her heart
Vibrate like a harp
That he hoped to set free in a cerulean oasis
But he dropped the bottle on concrete
Therefore shattering into uncollectible fragments.

But it was ok
Because the horizon
Shimmered in
Saturday.

He drove to the store
A shopping list folded and creased
Like a thin dryer sheet
Lavender pocket
Enveloped inside
Making wrong turns
Wanting to accelerate during red lights
And pause at green
He was all mixed up.

But it was ok
Because the horizon
Shimmered in
Saturday.

He stared out the kitchen window
Reconstructing the world
Blueprints like blue jays
He wished to do it all
While knowing his stardust skeleton
Was too minuscule.

But it was ok
Because the horizon
Shimmered in
Saturday.

He painted across canvas
Standing easel tall
Layering oil paint upon white
As if it was never meant to exist
But he sneezed
And the paintbrush glided with a trespasser’s attitude.

But it was ok
Because the horizon
Shimmered in
Saturday.

He raked the pile of leaves
Beneath the branches on property line
A pyramid of red, orange, and yellow gemstones
Becoming caught in a whirlwind
Like a jacket scarf
Sending the neat into a messy frenzy

But it was ok
Because the horizon
Shimmered in
Saturday.

He read his favorite book
The one where fantasy runs wild
And adjectives boom across the pages
But as he turned one
The corner sliced his skin.

But it was ok
Because the horizon
Shimmered in
Saturday.

He walked down the sidewalk
In red Converse
White shoelaces unraveling
Becoming loose and un-bowed
Stumbling and tripping
For crowds and passer-byers to witness.

But it was ok
Because the horizon
Shimmered in
Saturday.

He reached his arm
Trying to track down
A yellow automobile
Catching a ride to her
But no one saw him
And no one slowed
She would soon be upset with him.

But it was ok
Because the horizon
Shimmered in
Saturday.


2 thoughts on “A Saturday Poem

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