why the remains of calendars
smother my writing desk
instead of poems or lights.
the mirror sprawled
in one corner laughs back,
its face resembling a man
hunched in a scratch-wood chair
who tries to play piano
on a small & wordless page.
what? I shout back--
my chair stumbles in fear,
cringes by the bed
while a broken coffee mug
sobs alone. the mirror just stares.
I can't drop this--I'm out there!
my finger rises to defend me
& accuse the window.
he says something about pride
but I can't understand
his words over music
that howls like a printing press--
wait...
no,
that's song of a 9 am lawnmower
urging the grass to stay asleep.
its right, you know, the mirror yawns
while an hour slips behind the shade.
my pillow shakes like a restless dog,
& twisting from the sheets I see
my empty notebook shiver on the desk,
her face blank & turned aside.
rising, I pick her up & read old stories
until my possessions fall asleep
until we cry with laughter
at the thought of symbolism,
until I remember to close my eyes.
no one ever reaches for a pen.
Michael Patrick McSweeney is an artist and educator from the Boston region. His work has appeared in numerous journals and various regions of the Internet thanks to truly wonderful individuals. He is also the founder and chief financial officer of a used submarine conglomerate, the business website of which can be found at discountsubmarines.wordpress.com, and he hopes you have a great day.
