Taking it in.

I open this page
once or twice a day.
I wonder what it is that I could write,
what slice of life to serve as I fidget
a tarnished quarter in my pocket,
mulling it all in the doorframe
of this arcade.

What I'm coming to realize is that,
sometimes, I'd rather find a lonely bench
on the boardwalk away
from the clamorous whistles,
where I can pull my collar up
against the mist and notice
my breath filling my belly
with warm, dry air.