Thursday after my show in Kinston, I stay in town, having no gig, and having a sweet deal on my motel room (THANKS Janet!). So I wander through the mall, pick up a Mother's Day present for my grandma (already got Mom covered), catch a movie, and later return to Next Door for the live band and fun for Cinco de Mayo. During this May 5th, I write this poem:
"555"
It’s strange to be here.
Only when I stop to wonder if it’s strange.
Gray skies, flat land, newly green trees,
Vaguely populated, possibly abandoned, attemptedly developed.
I think it’s cool now, but I’d still rather not wear a jacket.
I think the raindrops will make my hair curlier now for tonight.
The fifth of May, will I find a bar?
I hear wind whistling past the construction dumpster
In the empty parking lot.
I think how I’m near the coast
And a hurricane has probably passed over here.
I wonder what it’s like
To walk in this parking lot,
Like I’m doing now,
Except during a hurricane.
Is there such a thing as a calm wind?
A gray day?
It is strange to be here
In this sad town with a lousy mall.
Strange to me because of the way life brought me here.
Strange to me as I think,
Despite the strangeness,
I will forget this moment.
I think how I will forget this moment.
It is my whole world right now.
The gray, the raindrops, the whirling trees,
This stretch between a hotel and a movie theater,
And the movie I’m already forgetting.
And I will forget this moment.