Sinatra

I used to make fun of someone who said that life was about moments.

But then there were moments.

Some were carefully calculated;

Researched.

Torn notebook pages with routes, itineraries,

can't be missed's

And we have to try's.

Pictures off of a webpage turned to dotted lines and bus stops.

Maps with destinations circled in chubby black sharpee

And lists of plan b's with alternative routes.

And then the electricity went out.

And the subway stopped midway 

Or with the buzz from the wheels on the tracks and Sinatra humming in the background

You slept through your stop and missed it by 80 blocks 

Or the 152 bus increased its price and you didn't have time to put money on the card 

Or there was so much traffic that it took you 2 and a half hours instead of the 2 that you had assumed

Or you seriously just fucked up and walked the complete opposite direction

And your alternative to turn left at the third stop sign, if you missed the second one, changed street names while you had been gone for the weekend

But when the electricity went out 

you ran into a childhood friend; 

while the subway was midway you started chatting with an old man 

who told you about his first cigarette 

And when you fell asleep to the buzz and the hum 

you dreamt of an entrancing city,

With white noise,

And people that remind you of your parents,

And flavors,

And purpose,

Or lack thereof 

And in the next moment,

Like the many that make up this wonderful life 

You came to the realization that your eyes were never closed.