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Soap Box Poets

Simple Pleasures
© by Roberta Trahan

Ordinarily,
I would never hold rain-washed river rock
just to feel the cool smoothness
of edges dulled by merciless scrubbing,
breathe frost laced fog vapor
just to see icy mist crystals
hanging in the sky melt from my warmth,
follow wind swept maple leaves
just to watch them scatter randomly
in complicated dances across the road,
stand rooted to the sidewalk
just to taste coffee essence, French roast,
served on the breeze outside a café,
or smile at strangers rushing past me
just to acknowledge the hue and grain
they have added to the landscape of my day.
Ordinarily,
I would take the bus.

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