Marcus Smith Poetry

Rookie - 0 Points (Oxford, England)

Six Words About His Life

I knew. For years he kept the curtains closed
and paper-clipped together, stayed inside
slumped in a reclining chair, fingering papers,
ringing a small brass bell each time for pills
and the maid to bring his fraying pale blue ledger
every two hours, in this house precise as death.

The same strict hours codify years like death,
each hour like the others with curtains closed

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