HIS WOODEN SHACK

I sat in a wooden shack
in a chair of wood,
at a wooden table
and thinking of wood

In the middle of some undetermined
location somewhere on half an island
in the middle of no-where
where we would know anyway

I simply picked up the book
that sat right there on the wooden
table, like me, it sat
speaking, reaching out to me

I turned to the page inspirationally
all about how he felt about me
He grabbed the book from my hand
realizing I knew
he was upset that I knew that he was

still involved in thinking of me
So you ask, is he happy, content?
No he’s a certifiable alcoholic
lost in dreams of the man he used to be

before he got lost in these
nightmares that came before
dawn became dusk, then again
Nevermore quoth the raven

But it was just the same as before
and more of the same old values
which had held him prisoner for decades
Indeed, now it was clearly a pattern

I wish I could help him improve
make life a little bit better,
Reviewing his past is strange
and doesn’t change his future



© Joy Leftow 2005