What I sometimes fail to notice in my moroseness
The corn
in the corner of your eye;
the joke that floats in that blue
trying to rescue me from mine;
the bird song not made by my phone–
actually I do listen to it–but which,
in the absence of the smiles that glisten
on your fingertips, often lures me
into loss;
the sauce that is your teasing
of my bemoan;
your seriousness that says, but we are here now.
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Poem of sorts for the wonderful M’s “get listed” challenge on Real Toads. The drawing (kind of goofy) is mine also; all rights reserved.
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