Thursday, September 10, 2009

Another from yesterday

I wrote some of these down while having dinner between work and choir practice. I did not have tepid soup.

Misery is a tepid soup that yet sustains,
cruel gruel and not-quite-cold comfort.
Familiar as a mole, or the farting cat
who sleeps nightly on your chest,
you can't chase it because it'll double back,
dog you, lick your heels
with its version of a kiss. You've worn
the shape of your body into these jeans,
and even as they tear, you feel
their rough grasp on your thighs.

That "rough" is definitely not the right word. I have tried "stiff" and "cold" and "cool" and none is right. I want that feeling (and sound) of a tough fabric that gives but is not entirely relaxed, that sort of holds you together even though it's not a cuddly embrace.

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