The Days Grow Longer
Everyone leaves me, I am always
alone. Strange, isn’t it, the way
deaths occur in clusters.
A cat can tell when we’re not
Feeling well. The days grow
longer, but mine grow shorter.
I want somebody to say something
to me, tell me what he thinks.
It is the tone of voice that matters,
Not the meaning of the words.
This is the worst time of the year,
I have so many letters to write,
so many gifts to give. I feel
like a prisoner in my own house.
The sad thing about not being able
to drive is that I’m stuck where I am,
with nowhere to go. The word “should”
should be eliminated from my vocabulary.
My feet are cold, but no matter what I do
They still feel cold. For the first time
in my life I would like to go south
for the winter. Trees know
when one of their kind is sick,
don’t ask me how. Sometimes
The tallest, strongest-looking tree
is the one that falls. The appearance
of strength masks an inner weakness,
a dry rot, so that even a gentle wind
might be enough to knock it over.
Whatever happens, happens,
whether I am the root cause or not.
When I turn off the television,
the silence is deafening.