(still) life

cigarettes in the ashtray
left too long
broken headphones in the usual place
the empty spot would be too sad
the phone on the table
running down the charge
so I won’t know if it lies silent
my cup still there–empty
a candle–lit for days
I can’t bear to blow it out.

I can’t make it pretty for you,
this still life–
a collection of misery
I cannot bring together
in a pleasing way
neither with paragraphs thrown at it
(a half dozen metaphors
like globs of clay)
nor paint–flicked with an artistic bent
neither would make this any less ugly

unsightly space–waiting for you
taking your moment (years) in the sun
why should I be afraid
did I not see this coming–
I won’t be afraid when I see the light
(could be angels in the meantime
ministering to my aching
good intentions)
the future I will stop trying to control–
I prepared years for this–


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