The Perfect Subject

shit,
she tells herself,
it's been a while.

sitting,
self-conscious,
which seems
the perfect subject.

the first one will be
shit,
she tells herself.

desperately hoping that its
good.

Comfort Zone

My comfort zone has lovely soft cushions

and walls painted the color of sand

 The windows are always open

so I can watch the people who dare to live deliberately

And cheer them on in their quest for glory in games

I am too old or afraid to play

I drink my tea and dunk my toast to maintain equilibrium

I rest in the afternoon.

Sounds so dull, but secretly I am very happy

To be the anchor of my sofa,

Cooker of meals,

Walker of dogs

Reader of stories

Washer of clothes

Write a poem every day this January

It's a time for fresh starts and strong hearts. Write a poem everyday.
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