adventures in dysthymia

Sunday, March 10, 2013

Comfort Food, a poem

Comfort Food

Give me a comfort food existence,
a simple, satisfying,
mashed potatoes life.
Excitement is over-rated

and interesting times remain
as much a curse as ever.
Bore me with your love.
I’ll fall into the routine

of you and me, of home and bed
and Sunday church and dinner.
What’s wrong with that? I ask.
What’s ever been wrong with that?

Stephen Brooke ©2013

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