Apartment, Kalamazoo, MI, 2018
Buried in dirty laundry, the treadmill whispers lies of pulchritude.
Living alone, the dining table becomes a dump for day’s debris.
I wolf sweetness, reach for more, brief taste a thin cover over deep pit.
The upstairs neighbor screams, “Get Out!” over and over but no one leaves.
Mother and son retrieve the cans before crossing to the next dumpster.
Whirling blades smother clamor of shadows impeding blissful escape.
Thin blue wide-ruled lines form jail bars for the poet’s imagination.
Remote at hand, he dissolves in the sofa, relieved to flee the day.
©2018 Kenneth W. Arthur
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