Walking on New Year’s morning
and what’s changed? The sun still rises,
The pavement is the same damp concrete,
And the 8 bus creeps across Ainsworth, as it always does.
A new year? Well, the dogs go on with their doggy ways,
A car engine starts, the leaves lie in same piles, and Portland wakes
Like Portland always wakes.
Renewal, rebirth, starting anew – I don’t feel much of all that
In this morning half hour.
The clocks have not been reset. Things tick on, good, bad, indifferent.
And what’s wrong with this?