At Some Point, He'll Wonder How He Can Get Rid of Me

“Make yourself at home,” he said.
“I can't,” I thought. I do not feel
At home in my own house these
Days; too new, too sleek, suburban
Blah, devoid of splintered railings,
And of creaky floors, and also
Charm. Yet, here, I have a cushy
Chair, a pretty Pakistani rug,
And books, and paintings on the
Walls. “I'm wrong,” I thought.
“I may not leave, as I do seem
At home.”



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2011-08-30 at 15:24

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