Insouciance

I leave the bed unmade―

toss the duvet to the floor,

leave it, rumpled and quiet,

along with my mother's hysteria.

The unholy mess coddles tomorrow

with pillow whispered yes.

I have slept with you for years―

pink menagerie of primitive art,

socks lost, one at a time,

in fanciful fruit-spilled sheets.

There is not my side or yours―

I stretch out in the center. 

tk/March 2014 

Lovely contemplative read by R.A.D. Stainforth...

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*"My Bed" by Tracey Emin

Cave Canem

The process of choosing

was all about size, the boxy head.

His father was a champion;

perfect black standard nose.

Perhaps he was over kennel-clubbed,

bred to a neurotic frenzy.

I didn't realize personality would be

such a compatibility issue.

You make no bones about loathing;

yell at him, as if he couldn't hear.

Every time I clean up a mess,

you encourage a tabby.

tk/October 2013 

R.A.D. Stainforth enjoys a mellow glass of Sunday wine...

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