nothing matters
from my window seat I can see a bench
concrete sides holding wooden slats
under the tree that has taken a century
to grow beyond the telephone pole
meet me there with nothing other
than a cup of coffee, or a pup
leave anything that beeps or vibrates
and we will linger with a sense of purpose
as though nothing matters
(as in we have nothing to prove other)
let us linger with a sense of purpose
as though it’s as natural as working
nothing matters so much that we must do
nothing other than find ways to each other
so meet me on the bench–and bring snacks
all this talk about food has made me hungry
Peace,
Milton
