Standing on the

platform at wing

listening to Leonard

Cohen and Old Crow’s

Crazy Eyes.


The sun rises

through a small hole

Clouds the forever

land sky scape.


my shoes no

longer fit

My blood is full

of wine.

O pilot please just

get us through

this hole of light

on time.




That was me
on Robson Street
at the convertible boys
making good for
their ten second shutter clicking
on a summer’s day
with the breeze lifting
my linen skirt
my messy blonde hair
eyes behind leopard shades
lips just glossy enough
to offset my teeth
good enough for half-smiles
in July sunlight
slowing imperceptibly just
before the end of the block
not quite posing with my
Ya ya ya sass
hoping a photo of a city girl
was all they wanted
my feet reminding me
of that morning and
my willingness to take on
a sure sprinting handicap.