Sunday at my Leisure

Sunlight leaks through the curtain after I’ve thrown off the covers. Downstairs the television flickers as a roommate sleeps on the couch. He was talking politics last night. I went upstairs and read a poem. This morning I walk into the kitchen and turn off a dripping faucet. The furnace hums to fight off a chill. The calendar says spring as if my life has just begun. I go out for a leisurely drive where the countryside speaks to me. I come back home and make a quick brunch. Words dancing in my head cry out for me to put them on a page as the cat sits on my lap. The roommate rolls to his side saying, April’s the cruelest month while I say the cruelest thing is writer’s block. A jet passing over a crown of trees at the end of the street streaks the sky. The roommate talks about a movie he watched in the middle of the night and its philosophy. Did you like it, I say as a bird outside the window sings.