Poet in the House
He hits the snooze alarm twice
before getting up. He’s already
been up three times during the night.
Two cats are waiting for him downstairs
but for now they leave him alone.
He wistfully looks out the window
as gray skies cast a soft glow.
He says he had a good dream
but can’t recall.
He calls out a woman’s name
but I’ve never met her.
His right shoulder aches.
He mentions something
about the years he bears.
A ravine lies at the end of the street
and bare trees reach for clouds
as they wait for spring.
He says that life on a dead end
is more than it seems.
He jots down a line or two
on a blank page. He plays
a song or two on You tube
and lets inspiration stir
for a moment.
His fingers stroke keys
and bring a poem to life
then holds up the creation
to light.
He showers in haste
pets the cats
and they watch him
as he runs out the door
and goes for a drive.
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