We’ve all known the sleepy afternoon
when slanting rain starts in, teasing light
against an aching blue sky. It happens when
the devil laughs I’m told; we often wonder
whether it’s more cackle or guffaw. Undecided, we walk on,
skipping over cracked sidewalks with Enya meandering
through us, tugging at one or another heart string.
We grow misty eyed — no reason — at the edge of another
work day, and even though we’re wet and 45, having just tripped
over a nefarious slab of sidewalk, we’re downright buoyant:
another must-do day done and hell if the rest of
the walk is not ours.
Sleepy afternoons
At the end of days
