The First Step

On the verge of good things rashed by the hard shoulder rubbing at our heels.
Makes it hard to walk, see. Makes it hard to be frank and unappreciative. Makes it hard and searing like the shoulder broad and concrete and turned away. And that is the Polaroid yellow washed, the sun laughing and we want to laugh with it though it presses its fist at our foreheads. We can forgive, I believe we can if we really want so pat the shoulder. The first step.