It Could Get Worse Poem by shimon weinroth

(gnawing and gnashing my teeth
which, aren't really mine, I realize
things could get worse.)

leaning against the wall,
I watched,
from the kitchen window,
as the sky grew cloudy

I sighed,
for the sunny days
of yesterday,
yearning and moody

the radio was silent,
the kettle was off,
and the hum of the refrigerator
numbed and dumb

my sun won't return,
urgency and thrust
no longer a must,
fires are out,

just glow and reflect
memories to keep and forget