I don’t write many poems but I have written a few. This one’s a bit dark so it’s a change from the normal feel of this blog. But change is useful too and “dark” helps us to appreciate light more. I won’t try to explain the poem; I think it explains itself fairly well. I hope you enjoy it.
9-29
The damn refrigerator hums
incessantly like a hornets’ nest,
only unnatural,
filling the kitchen
with a twitchy electricity.
Potato soup for dinner again,
leftover but all right,
microwaved and hot as blazes;
it clings to the spoon
and dulls the palate like acid.
He stands bowl on counter stooped
by the kitchen window
gulping hot mouthfuls
then licking the spoon clean
of potato scum with each turn.
Out through the window above the sink,
he sees only darkness peering in;
it’s 9-29 the woods shuttered with black
as only the florescent light above him
illuminates dimly the room with unfriendly gleam.
No moon tonight,
none he can find;
she hasn’t been around—
a bad day with the pain and all—
so he eats alone.
Finished, he rinses the bowl
and notices the stoic reflection
in the black window
staring at him with distrustful expression;
the refrigerator refuses to cease humming.
He’s getting used to it.
