Sunderings

Do you expect me to let go this image
their quivering lips the cats yowling in the background
the smashed dinner plates the spilling of the beans
across her lap

Do you expect me to give up
the peace of a perfectly-wrapped spoon against her back
warm in winter’s night under deep blankets of cocoon

Do you expect me to concoct an excuse for this
to be able to explain to anyone why this is all ok
even as they claw at my eyes

What do I expect
as I slip the keycard through the slot
of room 305, shivering.

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About David

Prone to musing and to being prone. Father to two, writer, engineer.
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