Val Morehouse Poems
Like a lover he enters my life,
carrying his dark purpose into the bedroom.
Each thing opens to him like a map.
Here, today's headlines screaming of home invasion
lie blanketed on that chair
where yesterday's clothing is crucified.
There, empty shoes gathering blackness.
Keeping silent on the nightstand, that traitor the
alarm clock winks its digital eye.
He fans out the credit cards like
flirtatious birds eager to fly on plastic wings.
Closeted, the jackets and dresses line up,
Emaciated prisoners praying for liberation.
He pats them ...
____With apologies to Pablo Neruda.
Electricity makes hot points to
the lightbulb. Water snaps
ready on the stove.
Pots utter provocative remarks.
The candidates are lined up to introduce themselves.
It is worse than a political convention.