The Loiterer

This poem won't ask you any questions.

It won't reveal anything you can't see, taste, touch, smell or hear for your self.

This poem won't charge you anything,

not even in the fine print.

This poem won't offer any pithy advice, though it was surely tempting.

This poem won't plagiarize an old headstone that wished to leave someone

eternal encouragement.

This poem won't lament social, political or environmental blunders,

and I'm sorry if that's disappointing.

I guarantee this poem will be temporary,

like a sunset, like the beating heart so quiet in your chest.

This poem will not cite statistics to prove anything

remotely like the dilapidation of life on Earth.

This poem will not offer you discounts, rebates or subsidies,

though you're awful kind to be reading this far.

This poem will not memorize your preferences and pop up subtle ads like google eyes.

This poem will not charge you interest or raise prices to

keep you busier on the treadmill of work.

This poem may occasionally, sigh,

and roll on the ground, like a neighborhood kitty.

This poem may hover silently like raindrops,

pausing at the ends of branches, reflecting the entire world.

This poem may scream like children in a schoolyard

or a game show contestant having won that special prize selected just for them.

This poem will sleep with your best friends, but only to watch over them,

like dust over a piano.