IN THE PLEASURE OF BEING

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THE PLEASURE OF BEING

I didn’t drown yesterday

in that pool of discard, a

garage sale vendor’s heap

 

Not to say that the swim

wasn’t nice, diving for

treasures in smelly boxes,

 

and tables of basement debris

hopeful for a new home, a

new beach to lay rest to.

 

When in the later of the day

a dip in the lake to wash

the jettison off my skin

 

To feel the real swell of moist 

under the Sun’s blaze,

with no reminisce of

 

anything other than the

deep of this lake and the

discard of mindless things

 

that crowd the pleasure of 

Being.