to the yellow-vested man clearing streets with a shovel

 

*say tomorrow doesn’t come.
 

will the rain flow easily into the sewer drain?
will the debris and months of winter sludge leave a stain?
 

will you wonder why your shoulder aches then reenact that motion you made overandover, every shovel scrape a little tear in your soft tissue?
 

will you pick up your vest then set it down again and dance in your bathrobe to that song one last time, your old bare feet shuffling across the cold wood floor?
 

will you laugh at the dog who barks at nothing because no one is at the door?
 

will you realize that this place is as good as any other?
will you remember that every day is just so much wind in the trees?
 

will you know (man in the yellow vest) that tomorrow
hasn’t come?
 

 

 

(it begins) | recursion one | process
*”Say tomorrow doesn’t come” from The Conditional by Ada Limón

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