Armond Kelty

Coffee tastes sweet but comes with guilt.
The sun has lost its crispness. I am still in bed.

Carnival starts today and the city will pulse with bands and parades.

Carlos readied floats through the night. He decorate flatbed trucks that came in from the village.

Each village will have its float.  Carlos and the Children will ride on the floats and throw gifts to the crowd, maybe to me if I get out of bed.

A door slams and a new tenant who thinks that he lives alone is moving about in his apartment. Carlos stirs in his sleep. He will return soon to work on the floats.

A letter comes and it is terse and lifeless, much like that slamming door, much like our friendship.
I read and file for later thought.

What to do when love goes bad, or just goes. There is no anger, no pain, no recrimination, no passion.

We are numb. Signaling like lost ships with broken semaphores on a wire stretched thin.
I hesitate to show feeling, she acts as If she has none. Are we too old and worn out, listless and lazy, too comfortable to get up off the couch, too content with a little bit. Are we tired?

The man next door has gone out with a slam of his door. The sign says close it gently,
cuidado, take care with doors: Cerrar Suavemente.

It is carnival day and we must be quiet. I will close this door gently.
Poems by Travelers
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