December 2: You Fool, Regrets, Peter Thabit Jones, "Morning Walk"

Walking home, he had even managed to pass a local church without crossing himself, and he had made his way along the largely deserted streets feeling tremendously lonely and thinking, with the sentiment of an abandoned child, how no woman would ever really want him.  At the same time he found himself repeating in a staccato fashion, "You fool, you fool, you fool."

Ives beats himself up after his first failed attempt to connect with his future wife, Annie.  They share a moment together in an art class.  All the other students have taken a break.  Annie, the nude model for the night, admires Ives' drawings of her, and Ives cannot bring himself to ask her out.  He's tongue-tied.

Missed opportunities.  Regrets.  I have a lot of them right now.  I've sort of dug myself into a hole of grading, and I can't quite see my way out at the moment.  I'm tired (exhausted really) and angry with myself for allowing this to happen.  Yes, I've called myself a "fool" many times tonight.

That's all I have tonight.  I'm a tired fool.

Saint Marty wishes he were in a cabin in Big Sur, where his only responsibilities are writing poems and watching sunrises and sunsets.

Morning Walk

by:  Peter Thabit Jones

I stand above the sea,
Like a colossus of Greece,
The sun on my back.
I reach up and almost cup
A lone grey boat in my hand.

I had to shovel snow this morning.  I'm a fool.