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The practice of relativity
by Laura DoomChristmas binds the family;
we wish each other health
respectfully, respectively
for someone, somewhere else.
She, as always, dressed for bed
and I for tooth decay
her television celebrates
the new undying day.
A quantity of time elapsed,
the gifts are taken in.
A trade of smile and dry goodbye
forgets us for our sin.
The journey home again postponed
my thumb is free to strum
not sound, but safe, the gut reflects
on what is yet to come. 12/22/2009 Posted on 12/22/2009
Copyright © 2024 Laura Doom
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 12/24/09 at 01:38 AM I am in sudden mood, Miss Doom, to dress for tooth decay. And along the rhythm and relative kithe of your kinship. ;) |
| Posted by Jim Benz on 01/04/10 at 10:38 PM "to strum / not sound, but safe, the gut reflects ..." -- that is an very lovely play on words, on a par with its title. Who ever said practice makes perfect? |
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