These days there’s not much in the fridge to pick on except take-out spicy bean curd
and a block of rice
in a kitchenette the size of a closet because over the years we’ve lost our big appetite
for conversation.
We are busy being insulated from the outside world by the whir of the window unit
and the phone clicks.
Consequently we play back messages from friends in other states two or three times
before erasing them.
We are happy the television lights up like a loyal dog when we walk in the bedroom
for the evening news.
It is possible to believe we are no longer lonely when we pull up the electric blanket
with a good book
we read only one page of per night because the cover flap says it’s tragic and we are
in no mood to finish.