it always comes to

October 13, 2013 § 2 Comments

that moment when
logic is burned on the
altar of curiosity and the
gears of destiny click
over a notch

resetting the astral clock
as it were

our personal serpent waits
patiently in the crook of a branch
absently swishing his tail
and running his narrative
through different scenarios
occasionally polishing the
fruit, lest we miss its
appealing shine

so it was for us,
somewhere in midstream
that the salesman’s pitch
triggered something
in me,
hearing the soft melody of
change and humming along

as he grinned and tipped
his hat,
the crimson orb held
to the light for
me to behold

and I could
always count on you
to smile in hesitant agreement
asking only that I wait
long enough for you to locate
the popsicle sticks and caramel

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead


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