Hurricane rains pound

Chopping the sky in mighty gray sheets

With sopping clodding boots I push

An overloaded cart

Each step I grow colder

My feet sink deeper into the unforgiving tarmac

I strain into the thick tar

Always moving

Always carrying so many things

And yet so empty

I empty my cart into my car

Preparing for the next

Sighing deeply hands on the wheel

A small flower pot with leaves striped lime and forest

nestled among hamburger rolls and diet soda ready to sprout into the cavern where I used to be