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{poem #37} chase wright All the doors In the house Are flung open. I sit atop The carpeted stairs Looking out the frontdoor Looking at those children-- A microcosm of our great future. I see the grandfather clock That your mother Gave to you Trash and Treasure It is the garish lime-green Wallpaper-- you picked it out-- That stares at me. The paper's odd design Of alien men Feeling me up, asking to see The leader. They are asking To see you. Then there is the owl that functions As a knocker on the corpse-white door. I have taped a note there. It pleads, “Where are you now?” |
