Lying down on the couch,
Paul wondered if the couch
ever resented his weight
and desired a little
turnabout is fair play.

He realized how thankful he was
to have days so lazy
he could think such thoughts—
though thinking was too strong a word
when such a thought bubbled up.

Paul lifted himself upright,
dressed for a walk,
put Sugar brand spray cans
in his backpack
and headed out.

He planned to write haiku
on obscure concrete or brick
so only those folks searching
for seasonal enlightenment
would read them.

Paul saw this
as his last youthful siren song,
enticing him toward a rocky coast.
He balanced a fine if caught
against his increasing street cred.

copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney