Saturday
On Saturday morning, feeling slack
a loose arrangement of limbs
suspended in this borrowed bed.
In defiance of the sun’s ascent
seek out the shady corner of the porch
to sit awhile and read a book.
Eat a bite and make small talk
before you return to your bungalow
to fetch your typewriter out of your case
and try to retrace steps between
a temporary desk and a temporary pillow.
I wonder will today be
the day I write a fine poem
and remember the words of my teacher
about forgetting.
In an all pink room with zebra rug,
morning comes,
a welcome rotation
from the dark.
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