Poetry – Page 27 – zakschafer.com

vacuum sealer is loud on an otherwise distant Sunday morning

the suggested tears i borrow from the pig on my plate

the hops in the tea make it bitter and you worry you might break the chair

writing emails to musicians i like

feigning disappointment during pandemic

hanging; lights in the moon

life is for losers

a strip club waitress brings me lemon balm from her garden

too timid to wave, it is for practice that i live on island

a ritual of empty cups

i run out of milk; hopeful, i go to the store

sorrow sounds romantic but really it’s just joy

i leave the door open so the nervous cat can eat without choking on its panic

macaroni, cheese, ice cream, and drive home

in forgetting its form, ego compares itself to lake and feels inadequate

no one sits next to you on the bus because you look too lonely

first, cold feet. then, slippers. next, socks. finally, heaven.

cat is too noisy at night so no longer sleeps inside

wait another day or two and then go

diesel truck idles while delivering home heating fuel

an entrance to an exit

sun stunned peak in a time of failure

the last minus tide of Summer’s island

a friend has beautiful feet

it is impossible to meditate on a wind howled porch