I don’t know if anything inspired this poem. I think I’d recently read something about wet leaves on the ground. I just wrote.

Forever hangs in the air
Like musty, rotting leaves
It laughs at our mortality
the dying and damaged
Yet the joke is on her
Perpetual motion does exist
It is love
and love is forever

I sat eating lunch in the eating area of the Saint John City Market. It’s an add-on outside the brick main building, all glass with a view of the ally and weather. I watched two young ladies take a smoke break in the rain and wind.

Two women smoking beside a wall
escaping a January thaw
Hair blowing sideways
as hoods hide cigarettes
They laugh at the realization
forever doesn’t include them

I wrote this last night during our weekly writers get together. A vision of waiting for a bus came to me …

Busses take forever to arrive
and longer to get you to where you are going

Taxis never satisfy at
achieving linear harmony for their passengers

Jets are too much trouble
unless you are a business traveller
with nothing really important in that briefcase

Walking is the only sure way
to travel with your feet on the ground.