the tea is brewed old wooden trolley
You are blank, wall-staring
brown photographs drop to floor
I know if the right fingers snapped you'd jump to life
I take it all it's what I like about me
even if the blunders cut deep
keep me down
pressed between rocks
– I think I can pass through them
don't play in caves
don't climb loose shale slopes
don't fly
don't believe this is real
don't stay
They all left before sunup
half-known figures, demons, angels
– you don't get to practice, or reflect
You eat a little, drink some tea
I take the trolley away
~ ~ ~
Half-Hour Chunks
She told me
she divides her day
into half-hour chunks
At the end of each
she has a treat –
a piece of chocolate
a cup of tea…
The difficulty, she said
is keeping your mind
elsewhere