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Ode to the Unmade Bed

by Glenn Currier

I have a friend who lives alone
and practices
with daily determination
the ritual of making her bed.
When I visit I make a point of walking to her bedroom
for a viewing of her work of art.

I’ve often thought:
if I practice this practice
it might give me some semblance
of order in a globe wracked with crisis.

But my mussed and unmade bed
is a marque or warning
don’t expect the normal, aligned,
or well-wrapped story
in this house.

I bow in the direction of my poet friend Philip F. De Pinto and his poem https://pathetic.org/poem/1448122572 for the idea for this poem.

03/07/2019

Author's Note: I bow in the direction of my poet friend Philip F. De Pinto and his poem https://pathetic.org/poem/1448122572 for the idea for this poem.

Posted on 03/07/2019
Copyright © 2019 Glenn Currier

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 03/09/19 at 02:42 AM

Thank you kindly Glenn, my friend. There is something to be said about expectation of things being in their proper places that avail themselves when the need arises, as opposed to when they do not which dictate, more or less, ways to gather and invent methods of coping that appeal beyond convention. A wonderful ode you’ve cobbled here, Glenn.

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 03/12/19 at 02:14 AM

lol This is funny in one sense, for a you stated in your last stanza: But my mussed and unmade bed is a marque or warning don’t expect the normal, aligned, or well-wrapped story in this house. I too am like this, however my compulsion is to make the bed when I finally not to lie in it anymore until night time. :)

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