One More For the Floor
`
It was just another desk
propped against a cardboard wall,
nothing fancy or dreamlike
and on a notepad
from someone’s kitchen drawer were scrawled
words, little phrases
in permanent ink, but not crumble proof,
as he did this a lot
The bin had a wide mouth
as if yawning and he understood
Taking aim, the rim a foe, the floor a captor,
distracted by
fluorescent light flickers
from a ballast that can’t
seem to keep
its head above water
His arms stick to the top,
sweat gathers in familiar corners
while he writes yet again
whatever it is that triggers his mind
and he too yawns
one more for the floor
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