poem~Under Eaves Crowded

Under Eaves Crowded

purple thumbtacks
on the map
places seen
is there still a 
t.v. downstairs?
foiled antenna?
I have searched
in laundry room baskets
under the crocheted
lazy-boy blanket
dusty balls of
cat hair breathing
in the corners

peepholeand me lost beneath
the eaves I have a 

hard time
keeping the bourbon
filled in my glass
because everything
appears empty
when I look
too hard to find you.

Nikki Lockhart

 

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s