Out Of Work Poem by Dennis Lambert

Out of work
with time
on my hands,
I woke
to move
from task
to task,
working
the life-clutter
into some
respectable
order:
shoe-box photos
marked and
pressed
into new albums,
strewn ties,
narrow
or wide,
ironed
and hung
on the rack,
sneakers,
slippers,
shoes-
paired and sorted
from heap
to hanging
compartments.
Stocking,
stacking,
stashing
all this
torturous
morning
until
I found
myself
suddenly
in a room
I entered
without
knowing
and paused,
awkward,
in semi-
darkness
wondering
where
to put
myself.