When the pale had come down
I found you in my bedroom
counting sheep.
You sit on the edges
of my skirt. The seems
ripped open,
you fail me
at evolution.
It was a good try,
you even made me think
you would stop counting sheep.
And there you were,
with your invisible-abacus invisible-numbers
in the darkness
waiting–
but not for me.
It was the same when the sun come up,
like you hadn’t closed your eyes
at all in the darkness,
like my glow back-lit
the dissatisfaction
a little more.
(c) 2008 Dorothy J Burk
0 Comments
