New Inhabitants

What sorts of vagrant thoughts will squat
In this house, my head, while she is gone?
None of significance, I suppose: lists
Of chores and petty jealousies, sorrows,
A load them, roaming the rooms in which
Pictures of she, so dearly departed, are
Placed on the table tops, counters, walls,
And the rages, reciting their lists of
Wrongs. The world's corrupt; the rich
Are scum; the woman on whom I rely
For company suddenly somewhere I
Cannot go. But she'll be back in time.
Then I'll shoo out those vagrants, and
Welcome its owner into her home.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 35 times
Written on 2010-02-18 at 23:45

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