The fragrance
of lavender soap envelops me
like the song’s lyrics.
Wherever I travel I carry
songs with me, lost for the moment
in the Appalachian hills
as I walk through a gate
at San Francisco International,
as I walk past the lobby’s guard
and then up the elevator
to a cubicle on the third floor.
All day I walk in and out
of woods carrying the songs
of owls and bluegrass.
They are as close to me as the scent
of lavender in a shower.
“Art is useless,” a co-worker says.
“Give me a bridge, something
practical…”
Defiant I stride away humming,
waving an air baton.
A 100 piece orchestra
brazenly joins in
as I walk down
to HR.
by Bob Bradshaw
Bob is a huge admirer of the Rolling Stones. Mick may not be gathering moss, but Bob is. He hopes to retire soon to a hammock. Bob’s work has appeared in Stirring, Pedestal, Mississippi Review and many other publications.
