Rockin’ Gypsies

To impress no one, we run
to the store for an onion, for salt
from the sea, for Kleenex
in a box of paisley.

We unlocked door to butt-
in on a simple question, how
one and a half
baths become a studio?

To impress no one, we set
the table with a vase
of carnations, telling no one
what a trying day; trying.

We reach for the door, check
the lock and the peep
before killing the light
in hopes we can sleep.

To impress no one, we wake
the neighbors with our banging,
hanging black and white
photos of fruit.

At our office door we greet
each person with a smile, neat,
and an anecdote from the weekend
“… spent it with friends.”

To impress no one, we end
our stories with a flourish,
garnish their slow-cooked ingredients,
and scour the china, thoroughly, clean.

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Author:

A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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