The Funk That Surrounds Me
She’s gone and I will never see her again
Does he say that…?
Sitting in his chair
In the house they used to share
Getting picked up by one of his sons
Joining their family for dinner
Lying alone in bed
Feeling empty space beside his body
Over loud screams of television
Can’t make out, can’t understand
His mind is empty of emotion
He cried that day—was that it?
Where his heart resides, it is void of love, of anger
Filled with relief
That I do not feel today
I don’t want to share his absence of sadness
Just want today to be over
To hide, to avoid
No alcohol, no sweets
No bubble bath, no movies
Maybe a feather pillow
One-thousand thread-count sheets
The funk that surrounds me
My cheeks, My aching eyes
Has me out of sorts
Hands cover face
Breathe deep
Step away
Copyright © 2009 N.E. Tasker
