New Poem

 Washington D.C. Poem

Winter morning,

twenty-degrees of cold and grey,

outside there’s no snow, only silence,

in here I drink bad coffee

with quick sleepy thoughts

in a warm bed,

out there in the world

men and women walk to work already

looking for everything or just a meal,

many missed by no one

or forgotten or wanting to be forgotten,

and I’m here in the East Coast

writing this, reading Lunch Poems by Frank O’Hara,

laughing at these wistful nothings…