Pretending to be Asleep
The wooden floor is hard against my head. Colored lights
crawl across the wall warping in the cob-webbed corners.
In the next room ending credits play. The babysitter opens
the screen door. I hear my mother’s voice but not
what she says. I’m pretending to be asleep.
Filed under: Past, Poetry, Reality | Leave a Comment
Tags: blastedgoat, Past, poem, work in progress