Poetry

My cousin told me he found
Jesus, which was the easy part
since he couldn’t find his way
out of Brooklyn. Then this morning
it was so quiet you could hear
a cat walking. By noon the wind
kicked in making the trees swing
like Count Basie and the traffic
sounded like his horn section.
There is a mystery in all of this
I could never understand even if
I took it all apart, examined it
and put it back together, replacing
Brooklyn with Queens, put tap
shoes on cats paws and took Basie’s
horns away and replaced them with
strings. Sometimes it’s best just to let
them burn like my friend’s cigarettes
he kept smoking as he sat in his dark
kitchen after losing another job.
When he inhaled, the tip
of his Marlboro turned orange
like the moon in the window behind him.
The next month the surgeon removed
most of midnight from his lung.
The next year will mean a lot more
than the last 45 ever did. I wished
he had read the article I did that
said real change starts as soon as
you find yourself. I wasted no time.
That same night I took a red eye, then
an Amtrak to find where I am now.
It took awhile but it was worth the trip.