Freedom

The sky was a vomit green
and I felt good

A sickly winter sun
wrestled off its night clothes
to grin a fevered beat

I picked a corner table
at an outside café
a scalding coffee
seething
hostile in an open mug

A feral stranger strode purposefully
came and sat
right by me
looked me in the eye
downed my cup in one

Disdainfully he said,
I have the freedom to do that!

I admit I was impressed
I looked at him, smiling
and I have the freedom to …

Paul Blackburn
Art Nick Victor

 


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