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.