Dystopia
I know when I walk by a book titled
Mood Disorders but it’s really Komodo
Dragons that things are slipping
downhill again the icy draw receiving
pieces of sweater, boot scrapings
where I try to anchor along the slope
slide back (the irony of moving back
when moving forward) but that’s
how it is and I am sleepless again
telling numbers on the phone/clock
like a child learning by rote the digits
that mark the course of a day
but it’s night that foils all the white
pills shaped into proscribed remedies
but wait, surely by now cats
will stop by the window and tell
me it’s time to get up and I will
put out pans of food for them
as they talk to me in their own
way and I will answer them as we
share secrets together.
BIO:
Pat Anthony writes from the rural Midwest, getting inspiration from the rugged furrows of plowed ground and those on the faces of the men and women working the land. She draws from experience and observation, responding to the poetry she finds everywhere.
You do not write poetry.
You are a poet.
You.
Are.
Poem.
- Pat Anthony
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