It’s been three days since the laundry was done-

They never say “thanks”

But, in the still world between the covers of words I never hear, it’s passion is so exactly placed.

Do days go by without excitement? I clasp my book against me.

And on the little landing we’re dispersed, and totally undisposed for employment,

And I want something else to get me through this life.

Couldn’t we pretend to be pedlers?

It’s not your trying, or anything. You’re an inconsistent player.

All the world’s a stage and you’re my player, my portrayer.

We lean to the other side to keep balance, and in consequence are the most exposed.

So I lean on my knees, taking several breaths,

Taking several breaths

If only to straighten

And keep on Going,