some ink on paper in december

drinking horrible coffee
from the gas station that
used to be a 7-11 where I
played pinball and could win
dozens of free games, keep
playing til midnight and
had to go home, leaving
the twenty of thirty games
to whoever wandered in or
maybe the cashier working
graveyard

there is much snow
and many things pull
at my memories, making
me feel a step out of place
as if I moved away from a frame
in a movie gone frozen

I sit upon a chair in a public place
these are the places for me
the rustle of newsprint
humming of ventilation
my thoughts are blackbirds
in a winter sky
we try to catch our breath
as it floats away

at least there is no wind
only streetlights
and crunching snow