The Pleasure Of What We Enjoy Is Lost By Wanting More

Greetin's readers. Happy Thursday and all that. So I am back in The Bronx. I'll tell ya, I've never loved this city more. That may be a lie -- honestly I'm not sure. I did miss it though. Los Angeles is an alright place, just not my cup of tea. Then again, I was only there for a total of maybe (and this is being generous) 72 hours. San Fransisco is awesome, aside from the weather being shit. It's July, San Fran, warm the hell up. Overall though, my favorite city from the trip is definitely Seattle. I could see myself moving there for a short stint. Though, I was informed by a lovely drunken gent at some pub that the men outnumber the women about 5:1, so I may have to find and bring the mrs. first. Not his exact words, but then again I use gent purely out of respect and not because it fit his delivery of this information. All in all, a good trip.
I wish I had the urge to divulge all the details of the trip, but in truth I don't. In short, LA (shitty bar), Drive, San Fran (Cold, great people, nice park, nice skyline, Alcatraz!, Coit Tower, crooked street), Berkeley (nice school, nice tree, awesome library, good food, disrespectful peon hot dog vendor), drive, red woods (simultaneously amazing and monotonous), drive, Seattle (first Starbucks, Space Needle, great beer, great people, great vibe, awesome dog, good music, beautiful cityscape), all night drive (lots of coffee, more coffee, even more coffee, lots of bathroom breaks due to coffee), San Fran (great people again, good night), LA (good food, great people, nice bar, The Dark Knight), flight home (red eye... couldn't sleep).
Hope you enjoyed. Now, I wrote a few pieces while I was away. Not as many as I'd hoped for, but honestly more than I expected. I just finished the first edit of this. I'll scan a couple others for the next few days. Enjoy and good night.

Another Monday Night

It’s midnight half a world away
He assures
Himself slipping the blue Tuesday tie
Around his neck,
Monday night
Sometime in July.
He’d lost count of days
Since the seventeenth of December.
His firefly
Making snow angels
In the freshly layered
Yard
When she should have owned the skies
A week before.
He’d counted his blessings
In marshmallows floating just below
The cloud
Of steam rising from the mug
He’d carried to her,
Hot chocolate – her favorite winter drink.
Her mother
Used to have it waiting
When she would come home from school.
It was fitting,
This parting.
They’d met
Over hot chocolate and snow angels
In her parents yard
So many years before.
He’d been too much of a man to lie
Down beside her then,
So he admired her from above.
This day though, he sat
the mug just below
The arc of her left wing
Lowered himself
Just far enough that their hands occasionally brushed together.
She took hold of his,
Thumb gently working
Into his palm. Slowing. Stopping.
So she could admire him from above,
At least that’s what he imagined -
Still. Sipping his Irish breakfast tea
Mulling over
The revolver in his lap
The bullet in his hand
Another Monday night.
Load. Spin. Cock. Place. Smile. Squeeze.