adventures in dysthymia

Friday, August 17, 2012

Long Stories, a poem

Long Stories

The roof is leaking again,
I tell myself and the dog.

She’ll listen to me ramble
if I say her name

now and again.
Where’s my treat? she wonders

as I ramble further,
ramble from room to room, looking

for whatever I lost there.
Shouldn’t I know it when I see it?

I could rearrange that shelf,
I tell myself, or sort the laundry.

I do talk to myself,
and the rain and the dog

tolerate the long stories
with no need to understand.

Stephen Brooke ©2012

It's been a while but I do still write poems now and again.

Post a Comment