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 |  A new book to house this year's (and future years) NationalPoetryMonth's daily poems. |
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I'm writing once again this year. This book is my special event place for thirty special poems. Here for National Poetry Month in 2018, I'm participating but life has not been kind in the last 15 months, so I'm not always in writing mode. |
| Breakfast for two, too early. Sans romance the cat and I share only hunger. Precision scalpels each hour into tasks and likes, lists for tomorrow, forgotten items at the grocers, the day's first wild card. I huff and puff against aching joints and return, buying extras not intended. Next interruption, the phone. Landline. Not friends. People with unique accents selling poorly explained items. I don’t let them try and politely hang up. Laundry to dry, two loads every week adds no stress. Need a new rack. I used to write you letters filled with details how I occupied my solitary weeks when there were interesting this-&-that's for telling. The opera, theatre, cinema, gallery openings. To spite fear, I went out alone waiting for you to return and enhance my idea of romance. We are old in our ways now. Of the two of us, the cat is stingy sharing our meager space. You told me to expect the doorbell to ring in a few hours. Of touch and go laughter. I never learned to bake at proper temperatures. Happiness comes out either soggy or too crispy. Leftovers are normally food for entwined thought. To add a pinch of unexpectedness [2018.16.4...a] |
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