Blue Space

 

 

Thunderstorm dumps formidable drops.

A Pulitzer Winner reads on campus tonight.

I drive past Lot 7, turn into the blue space;

too sore to climb curbs, plot my way towards the ramp.

People trot ahead- just behind, heels pound water,

“I miss my temporary handicapped sticker, being closer on nasty nights like these,”

petite girl with sheep-lined hoodie, black umbrella, flashes a smile my way.

The remark strikes hot. My first thought,

I miss needing one!  But I couldn’t say it.  It was a lie. 

I have needed blue spaces my entire life – and therefore could not, truly, miss them. 

As missing implies having had something like

 the space between you and a beloved friend’s head stone.

I wonder why she pines over blue space. 

I am moved to ask but she is twenty yards past me.

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