Lodge

You control my very mind.  You have

the remote control, you keep the medicine,

you take the keys to bed.

 

You always say

you’ll slip into something more comfortable

when you’re hands and knees beside the bush

of red roses, trowel, gloves, sweat;

but will not give the time of day –

 

Upon my return

in fumbling dark I seek out a light-switch

no longer there.

 

I retire to yonder place

I know not

where you go.

There I sit and mark the silent air.

2015

◄ Life through a Box Hedge

The Vote of Confidence ►

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