When I travel to another place,
do I look forward to the trip?
When I sit down to eat,
do I look forward to the meal?
When I show up for work,
do I look forward to the task?
When I welcome friends and family,
do I look forward to their visits?
Why would I not want to
look forward to these things?
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1 comment:
Rouge
There’s bound to be a future
Inside each cookie, lucky numbers,
But now that my mother is gone
There’s no one to talk to.
As I move through the day,
There’s always a space
That’s become empty
On the periphery of vision.
Classical music, bizarre
Animation, wild birds
Instantly remind me
Who would have loved them.
The future no longer bears
Thinking: wheelchairs
In a nursing home roost
With nobody to visit.
[Disposable Poem March 28, 2010]
Dr, Mike
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