Joey Cloudy online

The Last Days of Leather

Walking up Goliad listening to the morning 

song of the old trees, the irises are flying 

their colors beneath the soft parade of periwinkle 

clouds being pushed over the rooftops of the gentries 

three story condominiums just out of reach 

of the straining finger tips of the oldest 

trees the streets almost crowded for a moment as 

the herd of neighborhood soccer moms jogs past 

crossing me on Empire with the arrival of the first light.

me in my skin crawling with insecurities, black 

leather motorcycle jacket, black denim jeans, 

black steel toed work boots and a crown made of  this black 

bandana worn as if I were an urbane pirate.