It
In the morning, putting on pants, its gangling legs
become entangled with mine.
It has thrown pillows on the floor again.
It has made a permanent dent in the recliner seat.
Leafing through notebooks of old poems,
I find more evidence of its hand sabotaging my life.
It stalks me in Target like a thrifty wife,
while my thrifty wife controls it with remote eyes.
It is older than me, fatter and less agile.
It sends ornaments crashing to the floor as I pass.
On rainy Wednesdays it will shrink itself
into a small hump-backed mood.
Tonight I suspect it will drink too much.
Yesterday evening it trod on my spectacles.
It will be sorry tomorrow morning,
but I am done with all of its excuses.
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.
