Tuesday

“this calls for something special”

a record was unearthed 

from its cardboard sleeve

placed upon a porcelain platter

Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue

because we all felt kind of blue

that our country was actually

kind of red

the color of the balloon 

full of hot breath

that we bounced on our heads

full of worry

one of us played piano

another tapped at a typewriter

arpeggios and keystrokes

nervous tics made beautiful 

we muted the tv

listened to the purr of the family cat

blissfully unaware

wise in all that she knew

fingers stained by Halloween leftovers 

wrapped tightly around a mug of tea

or a glass of wine

grasping for straws 

we told the youngest

“it will all be okay in the end,

and if it's not okay

it's not the end”

I almost believed that

as I left & walked down the hill alone

but the stars were not as bright as they were before

and the way out was not so clear