Skinny Tree - Poem

Here we are.

With the window wide and the curtains moving
Just a little as we listen
To nothing at all.

There she is.

Long legs across the kitchen floor, 

Tapping red heels on the tile, ignoring her handful of cherrios.

Staring at me.


Here I sit. 

Elbows slowly wrinkling the newspaper,

Hands clasped,

Eyes half-closed and fading.

Here we are.

Our youth slumped across the kitchen,

Hot coffee without breakfast.

The skinny tree waiting outside by the truck.

These are the walls
I once thought about painting.
That and a trip to the gym,

Or the bar.

And here we stay.
Guarding our secret disappointment,
From the silence
Of our window,
Of the newspaper
Of my coffee
Of her red heels.

Here we stay.
Until she speaks.