Sonnet
The Condition I’m In
Tonight the sofa starts to scream and shout. What little beer is gone, he rolls out into the garage. Dredged on an endless chain of nothing new pulls the cover from a bright orange car. The seat worked in like a catcher’s mitt, can you really think life gets any better than this? Pulls into a parking lot, the Playboy Zanzibar. On stage the sun left her alone and blue. She's in love with the act before the act, flashes of everything he believes is true, sharing stares head to toe tattoo’s—long legged red wine and real overdue, crestfallen worked in like a catcher’s mitt, a pole to grip wearing nothing but red shoes and prosperity.
By Gerry Thibeault10 days ago in Poets
