There are days
When I catch you
Tacking on sniper precise instructions,
That forecast my incompetence,
And I roll my eyes.
I mean...
Really.
It's not like
That in some state
Of St. Vitus
Dance
Clumsiness;
A day dream might con me
Out of some
Vital step.
Like opening the door,
Before reaching into the fridge
Because I'm not sure nothing exists.
I mean...
I've never seen it.
Nothing,
That is,
I couldn't tell you what it looks like.
What was it you said?
The vacuum head is
in the other cupboard.
Oh yes,
We don't keep vacuums in the fridge.
I mean...
Really.
YOU ARE READING
Scribblings
PoetryWords arranged in a funny order. Poems about my view of reality and how my inner fantasy world colours it with strange tinges. I love discussions about concepts and ideas so please feel free to comment. © 2018 Brian Lynch
