Water Under The Bridge

Quiet waters flow under the bridge
Where I sit with a book and cheap wine,
Pretending to fish while I soak up the cool
Of the shade, as I bide out my time.
It's a good day for dozing here, out of the way.
My ambition levels are low.
No one will disturb me as I turn the page.
I tell no one here's where I go.

Over my head the traffic roars on
Oblivious to my presence here.
They have places to do and people to be
And right now, I'm too lazy to care.
I brought a lunch which I fed to the crows,
My companions the afternoon through.
They laugh at my indolence, scoff at my sloth.
They don't know I'm thinking of you.

Tomorrow I'll be my usual self,
Preoccupied, busy and rushed.
I'll sweat all the details, cross all the T's,
Be industrious as I must.
But in back of my mind in its own private file
The memory of this afternoon
Carries me back from the noise and the fuss
To a place that is all my own.