The Kitchen Sink

The kitchen sink is broke.
Drip, drip in the night.
The plumber man says he can't fix it.
Snowy footsteps back out the front door.
I stand in the kitchen looking at the sink.
Drip, drip. Pale noon light.
A house so empty the noise like thunderous
Footsteps of giants. Even when eating,
Empty chairs at a table
Three-quarters dusty.
Drip, drip at dinner's dusk.
I pile the dishes in the sink,
All broke as it is.
I'll do them in the morning.
To bed, empty, in house, empty.
Drip, drip in the night.

Bitter Wind

bitter wind
so sour your sting
a million hissing slaps
to chaffed cheeks
why your bitterness?
why your ire?

Courage

Courage
Is the feel of carpet
Burning your cheek,
As tears ooze
Into the plastic fibers,
When you slowly reach
Your hands,
Palms down,
On either side of you,
And feebly push,
One last time,
Your body from the floor.

Courage is the tear-stained rug
You leave behind.