Chapel of a Latter Day Agoraphobic
I no longer want to be
in the thrum and thrust of things.
I want to be left alone
with my crisp white box wine
and the news of our sadness and decline.
The thrum and the thrust
have beaten conviviality out of me.
Leave me alone to parse the sad news
and write of my own bruises.
in the thrum and thrust of things.
I want to be left alone
with my crisp white box wine
and the news of our sadness and decline.
The thrum and the thrust
have beaten conviviality out of me.
Leave me alone to parse the sad news
and write of my own bruises.
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Author's Note
#22 for Napomo 15
Other stories by Gary Hardaway
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Bern there, done that.*
*been
Maybe the problem is you're drinking wine from a box. I'm not that far gone yet.*
Black Box?*
Gulp...first Chapman knocks me to the ground and now you pound me into it. *
Thanks, everyone, for your attention.
I refer to boxed wine as funeral wine.
I enjoyed this poem. Hit somewhere familiar. *
Thank you, Felicia.