Sometimes you feel like an elf

. . . And I did, finding myself packing cookies on an assembly line to Christmas music while it snowed outside. Anyway. . .

Angle-Less

All is silent.
Warm air comes out of
the vents of my car.
Snow comes down on everything.
They have me working in a warehouse,
boxing cookies,
off Industrial Center Blvd.,
where only warehouses exist.
Masses of warehouses and parking lots.
Sparse space here.
This parking lot empty, everyone gone to lunch.
My car at the end,
then a stray field, then a highway.
In the field are stacks of skids, hundreds,
covered in blue tarp, torn, flapping
in the wind and snow
among this field in the night.

Lately, others have been
light bulbs in the night,
beacons offering places to stay,
money, or food.

Kindness.

In the distance, small lights glide
on the highway.
Snow falls on
and around my car.

I doze off for some time thinking of kindness,
how it covers all angles,
angle-less, spreading like light in the dark.