In Search of Destiny (Ending Up Where I Always Do)

The weather is cold,
bitter,
more bitter than my coffee,
more bitter than your
average, jealous fellow.
My hair is jostled,
my wavy,
in-between-haircut hair
moves like a spastic drug addict.
The waves become loose curls.
I pass by this store front
that has been vacant for a while now,
a clump of dirt (maybe it’s a nest,
maybe it’s just a clump of dirt)
dangles and dances
with each thrust of wind.
Couples walk by—
hands firmly held,
stares, distant and cold.
What’s left of an alt weekly
tumbles on by,
momentarily snagged on my foot.
With a gentle kick,
it becomes free,
continuing on with its random destination.
My destination is also random,
or maybe, I am looking for somewhere to go,
or looking for someone
(my destiny, or a random fuck.)
But what I find is time running out,
and where I find myself is the same place
I know where I can be me…
with some coffee,
three cigarettes,
a half-read book
and an iPod in need of charging.

 
©2011 José-Ariel Cuevas