Bereft

Each day that’s past its useful date discarded,
as the seasons change,
each memory shuffles off as I don slippers, sit
within close range
to watch the foreign news, nod at the television,
wake up all strange
and muzzy in my bed.

A thief’s been rooting in the chest of drawers
once called my head.

Lynette Arden

published in Micropress Oz (the Mozzie) Jan 2004

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