30 Sep View from the chair
The carpet seems clean enough
and plaster isn’t falling.
I can even see a little sunlight
falling in sheets on the bed sheets.
I have socks without holes,
a pen that needs no refill.
But there’s something missing
from what it’s hard to say.
The water tastes chalky today.
It’s wet and comes from somewhere.
A butcher I haven’t met
ground the round in the fridge.
I wonder if it was a young boy who
spread the coffee fruit in the street.
Whoever built this house did
not know I would be so tall.
A crisis has been averted.
I was only ten minutes late.
The roads weren’t bad, really,
neither was my night’s sleep.
But the mirror was rude and
the alarm clock was lazy.
All the shoes in my walk-in
remind me why they’re still new.
Maybe tonight will be the night
we take that long walk.
Talk about your mother and
why she is my favorite.
A massage would be nice
after sitting down all day.
In fact, I’m a little tired.
Maybe we’ll watch television.
The wind carries last month’s
temperatures to my ten toes.
The sun paints the edge of
the world, quite messily, really.
Gravel crunches and sighs and
your car door slams me awake.
I run downstairs barefoot
to ask you about your day.
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