Stumped

Satisfaction (had I any) isn't much to write about.
A coolly pleasant August morning, coffee,
Money, home from work to wander, lightly
Obligated, through the house and out into
My unkempt jungle of a yard. The wife
Will nag. I'm used to that. The air will
Warm. My daughter and some friends
Of hers will come to swim. I'll go to meet
The guys from work for beer and wings,
And rude remarks, and those vague pains
Which fuel poems, anomie and isolation,
Being somewhat lost among the artless
And the rows of grain, the slowly shrinking
Image of a woman who refused my love,
Remain too vague to tug at me. I'm on
The cusp of satisfaction, stumped. What
Can I write about?



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 71 times
Written on 2016-08-13 at 14:35

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