Yellow Pages

Sun lights the morning sky,
the neighbor rooster makes sure
we know he's still in the yard,
I get my tea and make a list

for the day, I scan the yellow pages
and lose touch with the sun and rooster,
the categories are wrong, there's no section
for big boring store, the yellows fit

somebody's notion of how life works,
they are not me. The rest of the day
I walk the path down Sylvia Creek
and look for things not in the yellows,

right understanding, means of livelihood,
intellectual activity and contemplation.
In the evening back at the cabin
with my glass of wine I need lust,

gluttony, and sloth, I check the yellows
for a boring eatery and a tasty waitress.
The rooster gives up and goes to bed.