A kettle on the stove
to blanch vegetables from the garden.
A Turkey carpet.
A coffee pot,
a whiskey glass,
a bowl of peanuts.
A spot on the couch,
a pillow on the floor,
a bed warmed by a little white dog.
Music from a speaker
tells me of passion,
tells me of joy,
tells me of peace.
Shelves and boxes full of books.
So much to read,
so much to learn,
to know, to forget and rediscover.
To take one's ease
with a book or a bit of music
is to live the life of dukes and earls.
Earl had a Victrola
and a subscription to National Geographic.
Duke had a public library card
and an 8-track player.
The lawn needs mowing
but the roof is sound and the furnace is new.
I dream of solar panels
and a new garage
in my corner of heaven.
The pictures of old times,
a cabinet full of albums
and jpeg files of not-so-old-times.
I write here, on a PC, in a paper notebook,
on a napkin, an envelope.
My missus, the little white dog
and Beethoven close by.
A ceiling, a floor, another ceiling and a roof
are between me and the stars.
A basement,
a floor, and a pair of shoes and socks
separate my flat feet from the earth.
Later, I will take the pooch for a stroll
and ask the moon how she does
what she does,
when she does it.
if she chooses
and she chooses with great regularity.
The little white dog will take note
of his fellow wolves.
His snout will stir the grass
and note who has moistened the parkway.
His fur and my bald noggin
glow in the moonlight.
He exalts in a profusion of odors.
I wallow with regret,
in the stench of my failures.
Still I can't complain.
The roof is sound,
the furnace is new
the garden produces
and my missus
keeps my heart
on her nightstand.