At the desk of my childhood bedroom
the chair with no stuffing
the window open where I stole smoke breaks
the wood stained ink and graphite
a pen: black
a journal: leather bound and lined
I used to doodle in classrooms rather than take notes
and that's what these poems are
silly squiggles from a mind too preoccupied to listen
and I'd like to hold onto this habit until I'm old and grey
and I hope
that I am still not listening