Outback

My former studio and refuge, now in total disrepair. I refer to it as "Outback" and it's where I wrote the poem of the same name many years ago. Come Spring, I'm going to commit myself (haha) to its full restoration.

Outback

Leftover piecemeal days
and bitter rutabaga luncheons
use my mouth to advertise their wantonness,
to take me up a down hill so that
I am just the same as always
wanting more than anything
to be alone
but not really.
The afternoons go lucky lightly
people drop in to say hello
I try to pay attention
but the apple mania Bridgeport
lady with the high whine
slops mayonnaise on the tablecloth
and asks too many questions.
When there's no more light
the artificial moon babies
go snicker snicker.
I slam the front door
and run outback
where the Hershey bars are waiting
and everything goes berserk
like an old man
with too many nickels.

by Leocadia