A Midday Story

by Peter Boltuc

A white slate is what your day starts with.By midday it is Bruised with your feetCarved with the paths of your thoughts.

By midday the game is basically definedAfter that you just play along the lines on your handsalong the sculpture of your brain

You have nothing to say to those close friends Whom you find unexpectedly in the party crowd

They tend to disappear having crossed The sheets of your bedroom

The crowd is divided along the party linesSo is the hiring policyBy midday your game is basically definedThough there are still so many mistakes to be madeOn the crosswalksWhere the lines of your brain Meet the lines of your redemption