Hate To Let These Magazines Go
A pile becomes two piles pretty quickly.
Finally a fallen stack not picked up for a couple of days
Maybe a week.
A giant mess after two months.
Your feet slipping and sliding as you
maneuver around it.
Pretty soon it is not worth going into the living room
So you stay in the bedroom,
after using a shovel to make a path to the kitchen.
If you never have company, this is so easy to do.
I found myself doing the splits on a fallen sea
of magazines one day, irritated because I have
never read them and never will.
I paid for them though.
Good money, so I am keeping them.
“I could pick those up for you,” a grandchild offers.
“Oh, no, she LIKES it that way!” my children chortle, rolling their eyes.
Knowing my stubborn ways.
The ways I taught them.
They grew up watching me maneuver around stuff like this for weeks.
Refusing to let it go, because I paid for it.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
