The past just sits there
in the corner of forgetting
and hums an old song.
He swings his foot
and taps his fingers.
He tries to pretend
that he is not fading away.
I have the pleasure
of ignoring him
in a rather sensible fashion,
having been down that road before.
Ida Werrett
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 18, 2011 at 7:28 AM UTC
The past just sits there
in the corner of forgetting
and hums an old song.
He swings his foot
and taps his fingers.
He tries to pretend
that he is not fading away.
I have the pleasure
of ignoring him
in a rather sensible fashion,
having been down that road before.
Ida Werrett