Teacher said, Make a meditation
out of anything, so I contemplate

the path of the tossed
away & forgotten. Some things get storm

battered, slung into the bumpy
river where they drift or lodge

under rocks, lost to deepening
mud.  Is there a reason to grieve

a crumpled Butterfinger wrapper
whirling down train tracks? What about

Mr. Rossini, my former neighbor, silver
templed middle manager, who on his walk

home from the e-train always
smiled absently at me like

a ventriloquist’s dummy? He put
himself to sleep by idling

his 2005 Aviator overnight
in his covered garage. Teacher,

this meditation is for Mr. Rossini. It’s so
easy to get lost, all it takes is one

wrong turn or just a bum
set of directions.