A Pome a Day for a Year

Hum, hum,
a light dusting of musk
peppers the morning thoughts, stained
with coffee and toast,
as patience virtuously supports
the parapets.

Checking watches,
opening notepads
beeps signify missed appointments
as hubbub swells
like an accordion wheezing.

Waiting, oh so waiting,
this meeting of import,
this joining of the minds, the
men of acu who sign away
rights and land and contracts
for the devil’s silver.

And here you are, amongst
the grey veins of commerce,
rooted and concerned,
sore thumbs have you noticing
and knowing how little
you belong.