Does it matter?

Does it Matter?

It’s like a taco truck lunch,

a compartmentalization of life

until what you do 

is another burrito 

sold from the menu.

I’m hungry for more

like before 

when an a la carte order

was looked upon fondly

by the powerful view. 

Three palm trees on this street

remind me of the trinity,

two criminals and Jesus 

hanging,

one of them could’ve been you,

Father, Son, and my ghost;

how about a toast

to the last time 

I said I loved you 

the most.

I remember one time

you told me

that there was no such thing

as a happy writer,

but two feet in 

the water feels fine 

and I know now 

what I didn't realize then,

while you remained the same

I’ve been working on my game

and when this scene is over

I’ll have written Act II 

and it’s in III

that I’m born again.

It takes two to tango, 

but I feel like I haven’t gotten my chance

at this dance;

trying to rhyme

by observing my mind

makes me want to rewind

to the very time 

I placed the idea

of buying a ring

on the line.

I proposed,

“Marry me, DESTINY.”

Clearing dishes 

from the sink

do you ever think

what became of me

to realize I 

spend my day 

writing poetry?

Concept versus theme,

the truth being

creation into a commodity means 

I have to make something 

that you actually need;

money the result of more 

than greed,

an exchange of value

from you to me 

realizing our shared reality.

Don’t ask, don’t tell,

if Bert and Ernie were gay

childhood would’ve been the same,

I had a headache

thinking those in the nuance 

were to blame,

trying to explain 

the loneliness away

my thoughts came to

a neighbor getting his morning paper,

exhaling he steps back through,

says good morning to the wife 

and closes the door.

Dan Parks