View from the chair

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.

No Comments

Post A Comment