What’s good–

 

You sat on that stoop

You cried in one eye…

 

Could allergies flush

–on such cold,

New York days;

Had gusting stray

wind scraped

a naked eye

 

You sat on that stoop

that short, rocky pillar

that pedestal to no-one

that–even the bum

had sat elsewhere

in free will

 

You cried in one eye,

as hundreds passed–

 

you’d set free a tear

and let it to stream

 

It’d carved you slowly

Meandering modest

–pooling you lazily

 

In that moment,

when–the tear curled

past your lip,

surely you’d tasted

the salt…

 

Had times spoiled…

Are yesterdays better…

 

Hey–

 

Is the day not good?