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hellopoet
Poems
May 2015
meal ticket
.
The door shuts behind,
key turns, footsteps
stravege after
a tedious shift;
eyes lift up
then revert back
to telly, magazine,
PS3 and tablet.
The dining table
is empty yet cluttered
inhabited by non-edible
non-essential stuff.
'There should be
something or other
in the fridge, '
a mouth points.
'Got that, thanks.'
Footsteps stravege back,
that's what it feels like
to be a meal-ticket.
The door slams shut.
_
__
✒
●○
°
Written by
hellopoet
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