Smiles

Inside…

The hot weekend found him

sweating in his East Village apartment

typing his memoir, “My History of Effort.”.

A large Carrion visitor

to the hotdog vendor at curbside below

flew up through his open window

and determined to bother a writer for a change.

“Not a good place for your exploration on that keyboard,

my blue-winged friend.”

The writer’s glance toward Killer, the cat,

suggested he too was bothered by the intrusion,

but not enough to jump-start his scarcity of adventure.

Outside…

The writer’s aged landlady extended a brown-spotted hand,

dropped coins into the vendors palm while he passed a simple Sabrett dog to her,

the summer heat bearing down on her aged smile,

a reflection of the bright promise of hunger’s satiation.

Inside…

After staring out at the unexpected picture of simple joy on her face,

he gave flight to his fingers and an optimistic fusion of key taps

prompted a “hopeful” paragraph,

reminding him that much of misfortune

could be given solace with the simplest of rewards,

if only one could maintain the ability to smile.

Inside the inside

His moist eyes glistened with smiles of epiphanous joy,

as he gently blew the fly off his keyboard…

stroked his cat’s head…

and leaned toward the window to watch the landlady finish her hotdog…

still smiling.