Casablanca

You lay on your bed trying to get a poem in your head.
It just not happening.
Maybe you're trying too hard.
Poetry like healing is a matter of opportunity.

You lay on your bed,
wondering if you're at the far end of universe.
Maybe you are and don't fully understand it.
Awareness, like healing is a matter of opportunity.

It's gonna be a Saturday matinee at the movies,
that will run into the evening. Mother has made us a basket.
It will be vaudeville with cartoons and double features.
You don't care much for the vaudeville, ditto the rest.

What you find intriguing is "The March of Time,"
as was called back then, the newsreels. Fat ladies a dressed
busting bottles on ships. Soldiers a marching,
Al Capone a smiling in handcuffs;
and of course, the wonderful collisions of trains.