The anemic landscape unexcites me
as I settle in for a long cold winter.
Here and there are cached supplies
to see me through my ennui.
Mostly dry goods, I’ll leave them damp
and lying in crumpled heaps scattered
where they’re used. The liquids I’ll
ingest as I did the chicken soup mom
loved to spoon into my mouth.
Nothing else matters as long as the
tower fan blows warm against my arm and
the tv gives off a low pleasant hum of
muffled voices and the cat lies purring
against my back.
Except my phone; I’ll need to look
through red-rimmed eyes to see who’s liked my
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