by John Tustin

The worst times are the times like now
When the days whiz by like the blur of cars
Passing by when one is hitchhiking on the
Highway
With just that little wistful sigh in the mind
When the car doesn’t even slow down, just
A flash of blue or red or gray or black, the
Breeze of the passing object tousling bags
And hair.
The worst times are the times when there
Is either too much time of none at all.
The day is all yours or the day belongs to
Someone or something else. Either way
The same.
There is the absence of melancholy, the
Absence of joy – replaced by trepidation,
Held still by inertia. One day becomes like
Another as all that dust upon the shelves
Thickens.
&
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John Tustin

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John Tustin’s poetry has appeared in many disparate literary journals, online and in print, since he began to write again a decade ago after a hiatus just as long.

Artist: Patrick (Revolving Style)