If you've never taken a walk on a warm December morning,
If you've never seen a southern California Christmas,
If you've never had coffee with a gay man's dog
(who answers to the name of Sugar,
the ugliest, gradliest black pug you ever did see)
Then you've never had a Tuesday unfold as this one did for me.
If you've ever wanted more than need demanded,
If you've ever had resistance replace the enjoyment of self-companionship,
If you've ever woken to a day better than so many before it
and been really, truly grateful for
the way San Diego clings to your slender frame,
Then you've had a Tuesday relieve you (as it has me) of shame.
Man constructs a series of walls.
Shelter protects us from [un]natural elements.
Ceilings shield objects falling from an abandoned sky.
Confinement deprives me of a sustenance known only through a
freshness of air and I can't stand to inhale stale atmospheric things.
It seems to me sacrilege -
an unforgivable affront resulting in meaner lifetimes that
were already no more than 24 hours or days long.
You will not live as much.
You will not live as fully.
You will not live as I have discovered a Tuesday allows
when a plastic Saint Nick swings his hips as
the unlikely regal air of a Sugar-y dog reminds you:
You will not live with honor or grace until stepping outside your assembled space.
And now on to evening. May it be as lovely as this morning I have known.
If you've never seen a southern California Christmas,
If you've never had coffee with a gay man's dog
(who answers to the name of Sugar,
the ugliest, gradliest black pug you ever did see)
Then you've never had a Tuesday unfold as this one did for me.
If you've ever wanted more than need demanded,
If you've ever had resistance replace the enjoyment of self-companionship,
If you've ever woken to a day better than so many before it
and been really, truly grateful for
the way San Diego clings to your slender frame,
Then you've had a Tuesday relieve you (as it has me) of shame.
Man constructs a series of walls.
Shelter protects us from [un]natural elements.
Ceilings shield objects falling from an abandoned sky.
Confinement deprives me of a sustenance known only through a
freshness of air and I can't stand to inhale stale atmospheric things.
It seems to me sacrilege -
an unforgivable affront resulting in meaner lifetimes that
were already no more than 24 hours or days long.
You will not live as much.
You will not live as fully.
You will not live as I have discovered a Tuesday allows
when a plastic Saint Nick swings his hips as
the unlikely regal air of a Sugar-y dog reminds you:
You will not live with honor or grace until stepping outside your assembled space.
And now on to evening. May it be as lovely as this morning I have known.
