For a Weekend

i see a burning cigarette in the middle of the road. the setting sun casts a shadow making the smoke barley visible. the asphalt that it rests upon is stained by the mark of man with its yellow and white, glittering in the fading sunlight.

stopping at a stoplight, i see a flickering fed hand. when shall it finally die? how much longer does it have, does it know? the man stopped by the flickering light, leans upon the light post, waiting for the changing light.

pulling a bag out of the trunk, i pull my phone out of my pocket to inform my mother that i have arrived at my destination safely, like always. looking up i connect eyes with an elderly woman walking her dog. i smile. she looks away. what has the world come to?

i walk thought the artificially lighted hallway past doors to the other parking lot. back in the sunlight, it reflects off the beads of sweat it has created that run down my brow. wiping it away with my sleeve, a man is loading wooden chairs into the back of his truck, i assume its his.

i look up the stairs and try to imagine what it is that will come. what it is that will come within the next hours, days, years. i am always thinking of my future and who will be in it.

i am the result of a destroyed marriage. i am the outcome. i am stuck in the middle.