Bless Your Heart


“Isn’t it time to write your poem?”
I nod, face a concentrated mask
my fingers resting on the keyboard.

You plop on the couch, first ripple
in the quiet and grab the remote
to unpause an endless football replay.

A scrum of players strives for first down
and you root in wild pantomime
for a game ended years ago.

A rising “Come on, man. Stay with him.”
sends me deeper into the house
in search of another oasis.

[If you’re enjoying my poems, why not check me – Brenda Joyce Patterson – out on social media: Facebook, Twitter, and my website. Or sign up for my newsletter.]

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