*
some mornings
I don’t perform well

in spite of the flowers
the citrus trees

the sun rising

greeting me
on my walk

.

I seem to carry
the European gloom

draped inside
my sprinted limbs

as some unshakable
bad dreams

.

I find myself
observing

the hand of the others
greeting me on meeting

some reaching out
some limp

.

others waving in the wind
or just matter of fact

some from Mexican workers
non-hibernating Canadians

plus white residents on
tiny wheels on their way

to the better life

.

.

.

.

.