Monday the 13th

I bite into the pizza,

thinking of the light of day and naked trees

and the taste of coffee

and the scent of Narcissus flowers.
I stumble upon a silver thought as I silently ramble.

To put into words eloquently I start to scramble.

I get to work, smithing the words,

as I nod and smile and say hello.

Is it me or everyone's in their good mood

on this early afternoon, Monday the 13th?

It's always the 13th:

Friday the 13th.
Sunday the 13th.

Tuesday the 13th.

And Monday the 13th.

Fall leaves are gone at long last,

blossoms bloom.

It's still the same frame.

The silver-lining rekindles an old flame.

I wonder if it's fate or just me to blame.

But thou shall never challenge fate.

Don't call it the worst, just wait.

The crook¹ and his running-mate.

It slips through my mind, how sad:

what gave root to "narcissist" and your eyes is the same².

The sliver of hope that I bit into slips

and rolls out of the game.

14 February 2017

Menlo Park

[CC BY]