thesocialpoet

Cubicle

In Poetry on May 13, 2013 at 3:58 pm

you are sitting at the window

at room temperature

building dams out of dust that

clung to our shoes.

 

I am a child with a cigarette

I am drawing poison from the sky.

stop me.

shake me clean.

no?

no

 

ten years have passed since four pm.

there was a skeleton dream in the works.

and all I wanted was to

be stones on the bluff

somewhere with a view.

but this carpet is a desert and we’re sick

of our feet burning

right?

 

you are sitting at the window

and I am swelling and shrinking like

waves dying on the shoreline

and our apartment is a cubicle

I’ve always known.

 

Charlie Mischer, USA

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