Empty Glass
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Empty Glass
Stained
The house is empty.
The dogs...
are barking again.
This happens,
and.
It is left hanging there,
for a reason.
The word...
Says little and less,
when I have run out of breath,
to speak words that make sense.
Nothing is important,
worthwhile,
or pressing,
because my values;
have changed.
I am not responsible.
Not like I ever really was.
Oh sure, I was good at this and that,
right on time, all the time, on a dime.
Food was made, the house was clean,
my kids sparkled(maybe that was the dishes?),
and were well dressed(maybe that was the dog?),
well mannered and did there best
(the cat, the chickens?, the fish in the pond?),
even when they spun and screamed
and danced to unseen Light Beams. (autism)
My head hurt(s).
I believe, I need glasses.
But there will be less to see,
before the end,
as the side shows have only,
just started.
Working not one job but two.
A side business, and maybe selling stuff...
cast offs and things no one needed. (or wanted)
Jut to feed us,
and make sure the power stayed live.
Every day led to do more,
as if only;
the world jumped in the right direction,
turned on the right top,
or evil was set new rules...
by a force of will, which never happen(ed)(s).
Classes on living,
everyday skills,
lost on the young...
changed by definition into
old without lines.
The Eifel tower crumbled,
Lady Liberty lost her home,
and the fence proved to be too high,
to allow escape from a trapped relationship.
Sitting in the hall next to the cabinet,
where we kept the things that stopped...
intruders.
Telling me the world would be better without,
you, me, us...
You had a dream.
You said it was about killing me.
Then you said,
You wanted to tell me all about it.
I had to go get gas for the car,
in the middle of the night.
You said okay.
I left.
Copyright © Ann Foster | Year Posted 2019
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