Tired Old Sun
Whatever fire the sun still burns with is merely a last hoorah to celebrate the day. This morning as I drove to work, oblivious to my surroundings, while the billion synapses in my head connecting and sparking
over my son at preschool, his mother my rusting anchor, the little mexicalis that I can’t be with right now, and the impending disappointment of real life driving after becoming used to the Mario Kart lifestyle
my roommate and then passenger in my old Plymouth Neon pointed out the sun to me. It was nothing but a black, unlit circle in the sky. No radiant glory spilling off into the great blue, no flaming orange hues rotating pinwheel like around its circumference. Only an off white circle, nearly the color of the moon, but without the craters to distinguish it as such, sitting low on the horizon but completely unchallenged by mountain peak or cloud cover.
It just sat there, out of juice, dead.
Or perhaps it was merely taking a break when it thought no one was looking.
Up Next: baby and the mama