Trust
4/18/2022, Con/Jur/d

Standing outside 
next to a weather
damaged circular
picnic table centered 
by round ashtray
beneath an awning
already collapsing
before the weight
of the failed re -
election banner
was tacked on
the wormy wood
where I awkwardly
shuffle, maskless
trying to finish
cigarette from
a pack bought
out of nostalgia
over a week before
and failing as I had 
with the others
to take more than
a puff, since apparently
I don’t enjoy
smoking anymore

I do still enjoy
stepping out to birdsong
and the imperceptible
sounds of budding 
blooms, the green-
ifcation accompanied
by a soft resurrecting
rain and so when

the older working
farmer, who most likely
was younger than I
approaches to pass
through the screen
door of this forgotten
hotel, in this way-to
town, on his way
to get his annual 
Good Friday fish fry
which happens today
to be fresh bullhead 
and he waves
his baseball cap
in my derelict
direction
saying

“Spring is in the air”
and not being used
to speaking, I say
“I don’t have, trust”

He laughs 
the eaves creak 
“Son, neither do I
neither do I”