Kitchen Talk Poem by Ted Sheridan

Sitting at the kitchen table early this morning
He couldn’t remember when he first felt like he wanted to die
The thought of death had crept into his thoughts over the past few years
And like a hungry cockroach hiding under his fridge
He gradually started to take notice of death’s presence
Scurrying off with payloads of future plans
Fattening up on his vulnerabilities
Crumbs of joy would disappear along with his self worth
Dragged down into the dark holes and cracks of his bankrupted visions
He had become poisoned by a lack of intellectual hygiene
Death was his constant companion as his many cancers grew
And like the cockroach it was now entrenched in his psyche
And like the cockroach it was multiplying
Everyday there was only more of the same
Feelings of hopelessness
And only the sound of the refrigerator’s motor to help silence the little bastards demands…

2007 © T Sheridan