freeze-frame stop on the number 1 HWY

morning shuffles across the osborne street bridge
like the lone can collector across an empty vendor parking lot

smoke signals from my cigarette call across the street and are met with a nod

gravel trucks groan and spray dust over the bridge
mixing with the gurgling, burping assiniboine
like Nestle chocolate powder, a churning, frothy brown slough

i pause mid-bridge, step up onto the lower rung of the guardrail
and look down, lean over, lift one foot and let go
of my cigarette and watch it plummet to its extinction

it hits the river and for a moment seems to get stuck in the surface
and makes more of a dent then a 'sploosh'
before the water picks it up and takes it to the refuse graveyard
or wherever it is the river takes beer cans, rogue hubcaps, homeless mitts,
fallen sparrows, tattered hats, take-out boxes

if a broken soul, tired and dreamless, falls into the river
does anybody hear?

i pull myself back onto the sidwalk and continue toward the Leg
no real destination in mind; the vague notion that time might be moving
on the other side of the bridge draws left foot over right over left over right...
below me, i hear the water sigh, then stop.

breakfast smells hang down Broadway like forgotten street garland
tacky bears tilt their goofy heads and salute as i walk by
then snigger softly at my back

i am trapped in a concrete body
placed on the cold streets of Winnipeg with the winds and ice
chipping my paint, fading grey into the concrete hue

they laugh, perhaps, because i chose to be here
they laugh, maybe bitterly, because they did not.
and we walk by as time greys us, ignorning them
and they, once painted and seen, dissolve
just like us, and they are resentful at our reckless
misuse of time

a story begins to form in my head
and i stop my mindless stepping to pause
and follow the gaze of the bears into the clear blue sky
clouds shift to the south, and birds like planes and planes like birds
traveling to destinations assured, places where life happens
or so i imagine

in my head i am booking a flight
maybe to Paris, where art isn't an accent,
it's oxygen;
maybe to New York, where self-indulgent wandering
leaves you in the gutter;
maybe to the Middle East, where death is what happens
while you fight for your life,

or to Mexico where life is a party, a celebration of a hard day's work
with streets splashed with children, fruit, and spicey cocoa mole,
with reds, ochres, azures and silver, where agave plants grow with a promise
of tequila-infused celebration in the Zucolo tonight, just because...

a nail gun barrage of snow freezes my thoughts
and my eyes snap shut as i draw the collar up over my ears
with red hands, wet cheeks, suspended breath still too terrified
to venture another taste of the chilly air beyond my clamped teeth and lips


as i enter the Fyxx i imagine a bell dinging overhead
announcing my arrival to be met by cheery 'hellos'
but instead i await my coffee as diners silently sip and snack on cookies
as surely sleepy servers, backs turned, move rags over that same stain
hypnotized, until i cough and they see me, dripping
by the till with racoon eyes.

we are all about the same age.
we stare briefly at one another
as though registering our present states
after a deep and dreamy sleep
and seeing reflections of our reality
in one another.

our resumes are written
but unprinted;
our music is recorded
but unmastered;


our poems are composed
but unpublished;
our photos have been snapped
and trapped in Facebook purgatory;


our paintings are hung
but remain unsold;
our degrees have been issued
but unclaimed;
the trees have been planted
but we will return next year;
we've moved in together
but grow tired of each other;



our ideas burst with the Spring
but by Winter they have lost their steam;




the drinks have been poured then drunk,
the venues filled then emptied,



and time skips over the assiniboine
because it has to. there's nothing here for it to do
but steal our youth and fuel its journey onward



tomorrow i will join time
just like i said i would yesterday