three poems written on a sunday

‘surely, someone was president, right?’

the year was 1904

and i don’t have a damn clue

what happened or why it did.

* * *

geometry of sorts

if i draw a straight line

one, i’d need a ruler or

straight edge, because

my artistic talent is rather lacking

from me to you

two, i’d need you to remain

rather still which i don’t see happening

as you move and shake like the wind

will you still be there

when my straight line

i guess it would be a segment

as a line from me to you

would not be infinite

though i hope to spend

forever with you

well, of course

that’s also a metaphor

‘cause i’m already 33

so let’s forgive technicalities

becomes the point

that was point a to b

and is now the point

and very close space shared

by you and me?

* * *

claw marks on drywall

i’m worried there might be wolves in the house

i’ve noticed clusters of padded prints in the kitchen

and claw marks on the drywall in the pantry

just above the cereal i eat for morning breakfast.

 

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