Saturday, October 29, 2016

53rd Letter: I'm alive in the dead of night

I'm alive in the dead of night.

Bifocals on the kitchen table
with the left earpiece broken off.
I'm wearing drugstore cheaters--
better for the laptop screen.

Mr Coffee recites
his litany of drip
in black Latin.
Enough for three full mugs.

Air conditioner hums
in the next room.
TV intones
its bland Nunc Dimittis.

Looking ahead:
at 11 this morning,
Emily the therapist
(nearly thirty, gentle-voiced
of the Irish surname).
This afternoon, I'll
clean the apartment.

Coffee's done.

Down sleepy Route 60
a lone truck rumbles:
resolute, industrious,
headed toward sunrise.

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