Wednesday, November 18, 2020


Feels like I have been sitting here 
a long time, 
laptop on a card table, 
kids out the window squealing
in the park just out of sight.

Feels like I should know by now 
what it is I'm writing, 
which keys 
will waltz the drowsy blinking cursor 
a little farther to the right.

A curled crescent of a dog is snoring 
on the couch behind me, 
and the light is changing color 
as the ember of afternoon disintegrates 
into the cool ash of night.

Perhaps that's why I haven't moved 
in an hour, let the music in the next room finish 
and start over. Perhaps 
the congealed residue of lunch 
will stain its white bowl forever.
And perhaps that's alright.