by Camilla Jean Welsch
On my back
in the morning
in a tie-dyed sweatshirt,
warm, in bed
when the earth is again blanketed in snow.
I can see from my window,
and tell from the sound of the racing cars,
everyone has somewhere else to go.
And I am dreaming of zero obligations,
but realizing I need something and some reason
to change out of a tie-dyed sweatshirt
and alter the fate of a slip-away day,
which, if you aren’t careful, can lead to a slip-away life,
I am told.
Maybe something tight and black
and black mascara
and pretty dark leather
could help me change my course drastically.
Yes, I think so.
The epitome of clothing efficiency
is found in the preferred-color garb of a quick New Yorker
with little time and too much to do,
and added tightness squeezes out the possibility
So, I rise softly from my colorful cloud,
wiping away the shroud of idle fantasy,
and letting the brain-blood trickle down.
It was good while it lasted.
But I like mascara, too.
And spandex, too, I am told.
I’ll wave my credit card at an early lunch of salad and sparkling water,
before the meeting begins,
to gain metaphysical comfort of a different sort.
It’s all just a mental trick, isn’t it?