We tried a little house on Kenyon.
You bought curtains, some furniture,
And had me nothing to do
But take the garbage out.
It was all you could stand,
You said, “In a male”.
I suppose I wanted
To stack up blocks like sane people:
House and car, flowers and work;
As if I could ever pile those blocks
Somewhere up
Beyond crazy for us.
I wonder now
How I thought that was my place.
That last night, I noticed the lunatic moon
Didn’t really stop at the door, and astonished,
As if I’d forgotten something three times repeated,
Left Kenyon Road.
I wonder who is really out of place in this poem?
LikeLike
“I wonder now
How I thought that was my place”.
So many things Paul…
I wonder now…
How did I think they were my place?
People like to put us in their little boxes… and we come up with all kinds of excuses why we should let them.
Beautiful Piece.
Poetically Poignant.
LikeLike
That’s a great question, Becky. I guess both she and I were out of place — each in our own ways.
Thank you, Stacey!
LikeLike