Tuesday Morning

She’s waving
at the trees playing home
to fairies, minding their own business,
doing what they can to remain magical.

She’s waving
at the fantastic clouds
unashamed she’s unable to find
a more complex word to write
to reach up and pin to their flesh.

She’s waving
at the cars on the road
making their way to work
or a funeral or both.

She’s waving
at a stranger in the café
doing his best to remember something
about a day that will change his life
forever, wearing a black baseball cap,
desperate to wave at someone.