Poems and Poetry

Little Cartons, Little Sacks | A Poem by Donal Mahoney

The mug of tea
I drank at dawn,
the tea that drove

me to the train
needs a refill.
At my desk,

I don’t do much
but wait for lunch
when every day

I eat so much
the waitress gawks.
She doesn’t

realize the years
till supper
when I’ll dine

alone again,
bolt everything
that I bring home

in little cartons,
little sacks.
She’s not there

when the couch
becomes my slab
till ten

when bed
becomes
my mausoleum.

Visit Donal at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/.


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