When It's Quiet in Your Kitchen in
Depression Poems
Open the little vegetable drawer
touch the broccoli and sigh--
your mother used to make it for dinner
as a side. Then take your place,
take your track lights and nook plus stools.
Take from the basket, center table,
an apple: to defend me from the elements,
hydrogen and--your mother never liked me.
Turn off the pace-maker,
tie your tie because death comes
with a raised brow from the east, or west,
or up through the plumbing,
and your produce can't protect me
By echoshindig
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Poetic People is a service mark of Broken Entity Media.