Saturday, April 5, 2014

Climate Control (a poem for the PCT)

It’s ridiculous, you know.
This sitting on the couch
and watching Stargate SG-1 
and sipping tea 
and eating toast.

It’s ridiculous, you know:
This air-conditioned
snug and windowed
house with neat green shutters.

The running water,
hot for showers;
tables, chairs and dinner plates;
homemade bread with softened butter,
clothing choices, scrambled eggs.

Five months. No beds.
Open sky.
Polyester clothing.
Raw-faced wind and blistered feet
and walking, always walking—
It’s ridiculous, you know.


No comments:

Post a Comment