everything is littered around the living room
while it rains softly outside.

you walk around
while I sit tired.

all the objects in this room
wish for someone to care

as they lie, unable to move
to some place better;

instead they are where we dropped them
or where the cats last pushed them, in play.

and they all
wait.

wherever I go,
I never seem to be there.

only the things in the living room care.