®

Today's poem is by Nina Lindsay

It's Wednesday,

and the morning sky convulses with the sounds
of garbage, almost as lovely

as the ocean, almost as regular.
My waking body opens from the middle; tight

fisted dreams start to break apart like lightly tethered snores: "ask
Lisa if she ordered paper for the copier"—the note

I didn't write, yesterday at closing, now baffles
round the unhemmed edges of my sleep.

My semiliterate angels wake me,
the garbage truck grinds out its good-bye like the off

key twangs of a Goodwill guitar,
the day feels old already as I unroll it, smooth it,

smooth it till it's wrinkle free enough to wear again.



Copyright © 2007 Nina Lindsay All rights reserved
from Todayís Special Dish
Sixteen Rivers Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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