Little nervous poem from the trembling interior

Very jittery these late winter days.
Snow never really came.
Rock bottom freeze never really thrilled
the nostril hairs.
We sit in February grey, fingers drumming tabletops,
our hearts hidden behind flannel.
Everybody’s trying to pass off this old desperate music
as the latest beat,
but I won’t buy it.  Don’t want
your door to door optimism,
your radon tests, your telephone predictions.
When I glow in the dark I’ll know it!

Yesterday I asked my daughter for a divorce.
Told her I couldn’t be her mother
and not nag.  Feel like an old horse
kicking at the fence posts,
rubbing my dull hide against the familiar
barbed wire.  Every time I touch metal
I get a shock; my hair stands up on end.
Just breathing is the friction that holds me up against
this life.  Maybe the cats
in the yard will understand.
They walk one paw lifted at a time
sniffing the wind.  When I yell and slam the door,
don’t take it to heart.  I’m just releasing static.
It’s the only way I’ve figured out to fly.
                        2/17/1988-2/25/2022

3 comments

  1. wow, you got it, Motherhood in February, or just February… thanks, I’m going to stand up! wash my dishes! brush my teeth! clear snow! Action is my answer to February!!! Ole

    On Fri, Feb 25, 2022 at 12:07 PM Singing Frog Press wrote:

    > SingingFrogPress posted: ” Very jittery these late winter days.Snow never > really came.Rock bottom freeze never really thrilledthe nostril hairs.We > sit in February grey, fingers drumming tabletops,our hearts hidden behind > flannel.Everybody’s trying to pass off this old desperate mu” >

    Liked by 1 person

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