Don’t Be Vapid

as the curtain drapes strung on the rod
above the window. They always move off to the side,
enough to let in the sunshine. Otherwise
they obstruct the view. There’s magic in this house

worth looking into. It’s in the kitchen
were last night’s grilled steak and onions permeating
the walls all the way into the hall
made your tongue saturate with flavor. You caught it

once again when it backed up in a hiccup. It’s in
your mother’s singing. And when she danced
on the table you couldn’t believe it supported her. She never
covers up herself or the furniture, unlike the drapes

that droop from their insipid position over the
living room window. They’re faded now to yellow,
looking more jaundice by the day. We could replace them,
bring in flowered ones. But that would be too feminine.