The occupant lives under the bed
nibbling at his love.
She continues to sort things out
trying to make it happen
trying to make ends meet.
Her education will come in handy.
The shell game however is over
the pea has been let go.
The sun is a sweet machine
making it a good day
to take some time off
before hiring oneself out
to the mattress company.
The classifieds bark
urging passersby to take stock
to find that certain someone.
Phoning home is a dead deal.
There's no one there.
The boxes stand in the hallway
videotaped, awaiting
the U-Haul stuck in traffic.
The rooms weep their emptiness
except the upstairs bedroom
where a few late-night intimacies
cower in the corner.
 |
Francesca Woodman |