The Most One Can Expect

Can there be smaller gifts than this, my friend:
A day devoid of pain, a stretch of hours without
Excitement, anger, loss, or lust or shame? Nobody
Called demanding money. There were things
Around to eat. The thermostat, set by my wife,
Who takes pride in her parsimony, seemed set
Some degrees too low, and, thus, my hands
Were wont to lose their feeling. Still, that
Isn't pain. There was no news to outrage me.
The sky was gray. The air was cold. I had no
Reason to believe that any of my progeny would
Perish on so bland a day. My dreams, of course,
Are unfulfilled. I still must find a place to place
My hands to try to keep them warm, but,
Otherwise, though it's been dull, I must
Admit the day's been without pain.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 81 times
Written on 2018-11-20 at 01:16

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