Writer’s Cramp

We are in the dog’s bed.
You are upset because it’s so small, the bed.
I am absorbed in your proximity.
Occasionally a limb will shoot up,
hit the floor or brick hearth
and you cry out in discomfort.
I haul you back into bed
to snuggle in the hairs with me.
We are circuitously enrapt.
Someone is knocking at the front door.
People have left things there before,
but not as blatantly as this.
Usually just thoughtful manila envelopes
enduring amongst the rhododendrons.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.