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Vermont
by Indigo TempestaWhat with love and sex and cooking
the shower never gets cleaned nor the bed made
and suddenly its Tuesday and I haven’t been satisfied for days
with my life. And that’s right: as when I was younger
I’ve no wish for satisfaction, what then I neither wanted nor believed.
I still don’t bring in cut flowers for the dinner table
nor ever will I, believe me; I talk and talk and talk
and suddenly it’s Sunday and time to do the dishes,
climb abed, and have yet another shameful dream.
It rains and rains and merely rains, here it’s like England
as I’ve been told, but primeval and puritan and careful of butter.
Plenty of room for dogs to run, nowhere for the kids to play, and
lots of gouty old men. I wanted to go somewhere warmer
and pow, here I am, the humid north.
08/17/2009 Author's Note: healthy suggestions welcome.
Posted on 08/17/2009
Copyright © 2024 Indigo Tempesta
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Scott Cadence on 08/18/09 at 03:45 AM I love this more than I will be able to convey.
"believe me; I talk and talk and talk
and suddenly it’s Sunday and time to do the dishes,
climb abed, and have yet another shameful dream."
- my life story. well done my friend. |
| Posted by Jared Fladeland on 08/18/09 at 05:37 PM This is how I feel right now, just waiting around for life to keep happening |
| Posted by Karen Michelle on 08/18/09 at 10:14 PM Somehow, you read my thoughts. This is brilliant. |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 08/19/09 at 09:01 PM Well done lady. Although I must say my stay in Vermont was wonderful. Try Myrtle Beach if you want to know humidity or even worse St. Louis. |
| Posted by Glenn Currier on 08/24/09 at 07:04 PM You take me inside. The unmade bed, the kitchen, the shower, the talking... where life happens. And then outside trying to make peace with the rain. Well done. |
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