Afternoon Musing

Cicadas laugh
while God moves furniture upstairs–
the rain cometh
and the grass remains un-mowed.
Light of noon woke this boxer-clad vagrant,
no breakfast–lunch at three after
watching Flynt advocate free speech;
sickened by market images,
will I be another stylist?
hiding cooks and dishwashers in kitchens,
waitresses in front, fronting for the bottom line
of living: “I just work here”–
jaded by day to day cataclysms.
Yeah, and I just survive here on this rock.