Sanctuary

I'm out of sorts. The TV's on and people
Here are talking ceaselessly but saying
Nothing. Clocks don't help. They all
Have stopped. Outside, a gale rips at
The bushes, flips the garbage cans.
I can't collect my thoughts or read.
I wander here and there in search
Of shelter. In the laundry room, I find
Some peace. I thrust the dirty clothes
Into the washer, pour in soap and then
I slam the lid. This fit of pique provides
Relief. Moreover, with the washer on,
I can no longer hear the near and distant,
Broadcast nattering. I take a seat upon
The dryer, kick the door to make it shut,
And slowly, slowly feel myself become
Less out of sorts.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 23 times
Written on 2021-03-14 at 22:28

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