“Uneasy Chair” by L. K. Thayer
I can’t get the
bitter taste
of you out of my
mind,
you’re a nasty muse.
I gave you my lining
I gave you my inseam
I wore my favorite
jeans.
undone
I sit like a cat
waiting
for the next twig to
snap
to hear if there’s
an echo or
something,
anything to bounce
off of.
but there is
no murmur
to fill my void.
you lean back in your
easy chair
while the rest of the city
rots
and sinks into potholes
on bumpy roads to
nowheresville
you
scratch your balls
and worry
that you’re out of cream
and Sweet & Low
for tomorrow morning’s
cup o’
joe
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