Is There Any Poetry To Be Found In This Day?--Rough, Rough Draft

Is there any poetry to be found in this day?
Waking to a hazy grey light
and another day of impending snow,
The night spent warm and sleepy.
A huge bed, unfamiliar to us—
accustomed to legs and arms entangled,
always seeking each other.
This bed though,
as long as it is wide,
room to stretch and
turn without the touch of another.

Waking, sleeping, waking, sleeping,
and the lights across the river change
from red to green to yellow
adrift over empty streets,
flashing to a silent rhythm.

Debris in the river passes swiftly by our window.
My husband always looking…
hoping for the gruesome. “Look!”
I say in my best pirate voice,
“There’s a bloody stump floating by,”
to entice him
to me
watching the river flow by;
looking on our world for the day.

please note--art by Jim M. Goldstein


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