Sunrise glows under French-grey, silk curtains
Already awake, packing mother's porcelain doll
Last open box
Tape screeches when pulled
Mother's doll brings fleeting comfort
Likely, coffee stained blonde curls fill collectors' trash cans
Pulling curtains off rods
Appraised, no value
Cigarette residue
Years smoking
French designer decorated with same opinion
Morning sun floods apartment, filling oversized wall mirrors
Everything turns white
Shadows trace cardboard boxes
One box
Curtains wrapped around arms
Folded over, resting elbows on knees
Should cry, nothing
Cool, dry air brushing against eyes
Savour dull pain
Delay blinking
Stare, white glare
Sunlight fills bedroom
Feet stampeding, mahogany stairs creak
Knock on door
Deep voice, "Mr. Asher...(clears throat) Donald Robinson, debt collector."
About the Creator
Keith Macfarlane
Hi! I'm Keith. I write short poems about everyday people in everyday experiences.
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