STILL WATERS

 

I should write something different,

A poem, not about a grief-stricken widow

Or a lover who is lost at the sea.

 

It should be something simple.

A poem, not of an infanticide, cruel

Or a postpartum mother, choleric and arrestee.

 

I should try the easy life,

Starting with drinking a glass of wine... later

Feeding on the crumbles of some moldy bread.

 

Flies fly above the trash I forgot to take,

Should have changed the fluorescent with amber one

And this office chair is killing my back for hours now.

 

I do not remember if I took my pills right in the morning.

Homemade soup fills my lungs, tv glitches a bit.

I think I have started to like this anemic drip.