greasy spoon breakfast — bacon smoke and free refills (here we are again)
morning cup of joe ordered black like a real man on a real diet
black trees in the fog — a bird I can’t see warns of my approach
winter rain in spring — black umbrellas crowd rush hour sidewalks.
downtown lunch hour — office workers without coats pretend it’s not cold
between storms my dog and I venture out under the torn sky
cold march rain forces me to keep indoors where all my ghosts live