Dreaming Day December 2o, 2o15

I wrote a lot of poems that I never posted. A lot of them deal with existence, reality, time . . . that sort of stuff. Found this one by accident while looking for another poem! Pretty sure I never posted it on this blog. So here it is for the first  . . . I think.

Dreaming Day

I think I've been dreaming again. Maybe too

much . . . maybe for far too long . . . and maybe
I’ve drifted so faraway from the reality of my
everyday that I only now realize my eyes are open.

Perhaps my consciousness has found

that hidden doorway, the one with
squeaky hinges, the one which usually
opens only wide enough for the fantasies
to squeeze through when I’m sleeping.

But there’s no substance to this daydream, just a

quiet sneeze of delusion from Queen Mab's nose.
Just enough pain to nudge me into a restless groan,
a desperate moan that only the waitress at my favorite
hamburger joint can hear... She smiles at me as she wipes
the counter top clean and absentmindedly checks for the tip
the trucker who flirted with her . . . didn’t leave. Her sadness
at being stiffed is just enough to remind me that once, some
clumsy time before, I could, like her, smile at my own
misfortune, and snicker at the great despair of those who
work for minimum  wage . . . I didn’t wonder or care to know
why the unfortunate never seem to notice me.
Woodie 11-15-12 (rewrites 12-2o-15)