Monday Afternoon

While I lie on my couch listening to the Basement Tapes I look out my giant window at cars driving down twenty-eighth street.

My mother watches my daughter play with her dolls while she plays bridge on her computer ten blocks away.

Thirty miles north in an architect's office, my wife has a cup of coffee with her friend Lisa.

I turn the music off, pick up a guitar, pluck a few notes and sing a couple lines of a song I wrote a long time ago.

My mother turns her computer off and asks my daughter if she would like a waffle. Yes I would, my daughter says.

My wife sits at her desk and wonders if there is anything good on television tonight. She calls me on the phone and asks, what's going on?

Not Much. You tell me.