A load

There really is no one there
the hours pass and I hear birds
cars and trucks on the road

no one speaks to me
my face scrunches ready
to cry. my tear ducts

refuse to cooperate.
Another dry day of dread
and solitude. This from

a woman who likes to
garden alone should be
able to load the washer

without need of an audience
participation in the mundane
minutia that makes time pass.

Advertisement