( Welcome to the Open Mic )


Slow down,

Come in,

Escape the jackhammer’s serenade.

The traffic will move without you.

The flagman will wave the others through

On their way to God knows where.

They’ll still struggle in urgent progress

Toward goals that they’ll forget tomorrow


Come in,


Browse at our ragged bazaar,

Our emotional garage sale.

Here curios abound.

Tender orphans begging for new homes.

Their anxious parents sidle glances

From somewhere in the back

Proud but unsure

About their gypsy progeny

Who all can dance,

But somewhat eerily.


Don’t worry

We’ll not pressure you.

Stay as long as you like.

The dusty stalls

And the strange objects that line the shelves

Create a certain atmosphere

At once exotic and familiar

Perhaps providing an air of hope

That here beside the ravaged road

With frantic traffic stalled,

You might discover something rare

Or maybe something made of gold.