April 30, 2013 § Leave a comment

celebrating the small
miracle that I
had once again
survived the cull

another day
ducking the net,
skipping over the bolas

able to drop my keys
on the table
by the door I use
to shut myself away

oh how
psychosis wants the mind
cirrhosis the liver
family your attention
employer your time

but, I’ve made it through again
these mortgaged rooms
with their faded scent
of seasons past

over the hum of the
refrigerators’ tired compressor
and the dripping
of an unserviced faucet
I hear her laughter upstairs

which reminds me yet again
to try to
do that myself
a little more often

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead


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