The drawing room has become tedious today,
dropping checkpoints
on the untutored floors,
where a magazine rack
has indefensible decisions on display.
To rise above the scene
I stand on a chair
holding my ill-kept usefulness like
a lap dog in my arms.
The postal service has come and gone,
having deposited the commission
to paint a Rembrandt tomorrow.
Our being decidedly underplanned,
we ran out of caffeine this morning just on the edge of signifying.
And no cables have arrived from the hinterlands
indicating that any star will shine tonight.
Andy Oram
October 31, 2024