Cold Tea

I have crafted my life for you.

You said you thought my record player was cool.

I told you that my record of choice is by Simon and Garfunkel,

And it is,

Except, my record player isn't plugged in.

In fact, I think I broke it moving here.

Here, a place I moved for the light,

Remember? I showed you the view.

And you took pictures of the sunset.

Except, my curtains are drawn from morning into the night,

And my window is too dirty to see through.

I had a vision of writing at this desk under warm light, with a warm drink,

In an atmosphere that would ease all of my anxieties.

But my drink has gone cold as I write this,

As I only have two hands.

And wrappers pile on my desk with water cups, and dust.

Because my room is lived in,

By a human who has anxieties, and a pension for forgetting little things.

And I cannot sanitize me from my life forever.

And yet, for a few hours I'll let you believe in my lie.

And, when you don't see my fretful staging before your visit,

You may too think to clean yourself from your life.

And I am so sorry.

Maybe next time, I'll forget to vacuum,

So you might be in my home with me,

And then, with any hope, in yours with you.