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Currajah

[a Walleah Press blog]

SUSAN AUSTIN

From a faded couch

It's funny how he can carry the music

out of the room

and up the hallway ...

Maybe intimacy got lost

amidst the swirls in our carpet ...

Maybe he's upset

because I haven't vacuumed

and he's mowed,

decapitating grass all over the place -

with me inside, watching the remains

chase the mower until it stopped.

Is it the dishes in the sink

and on the bench

and beside the couch on this damn carpet?

Are we lacking discourse or

inspired intercourse

or the hello-goodbye kisses we long-ago

repudiated as robotic?

It's like our touch is now glove-buffered

and the tea we make each other is each time weaker ...

At the hearth there are two pairs of shoes

drying by the fire for the eighth day.