Dream Walking

For many, living is but dying in wait.

***
Always late for school,
the classroom bell forever echoing
down the avenue, the street, the alley,
wherever he happened to be.

Once there, he was like a ghost,
no one recognizing him,
destined to sit once again
renounced, withdrawn and alone.

He found himself immersed in addresses
permanently fixed in memory,
where sleeping was for phantoms
wandering the halls,
flushing the toilet,
visiting the kitchen,
monitoring the faucet drip.

He has a window now to peek down
at the convenience store,
his place of purchase,
easy,
cheap,
friendly,
especially after midnight.

Comes the wee small hours
the next door movie marque is unlit,
still showing grainy films into the night,
into the morning,
into the stillborn eyes of others lost.

Why, he wonders…

Does the screen always have to show the hero
never giving up,
always full of anticipation,
finding such hope taken away in the end,
confirming again the price of expectation.

Oh, how many times did he
walk out into the sun’s light,
the cold air full of wakefulness,
refreshing his continuant dream walking.