sitting in the post-mortem storm of early morning calm
husband and son dutifully kissed'n dismissed
bustled-hustled-harried out the door, off to work and school
I pour
my second cup of coffee, take a seat for half an hour
on my flower-painted couch
and there
they
are
glaring
sitting, staring balefully beside me
like last night’s unwanted dinner guests
reluctant to go home
optimistically expecting breakfast
and sniffing coffee
eight
odd
socks
last month there were only five,
four the month before, and before that again
it was idyllic -
only two
for the longest time
similar, but different
as life was meant to be
including the possibility
of living with one slightly mismatched pair
but today?
EIGHT
mateless
dateless
each one startling
unique
freaks
holey, or whole
boldly solo
old 'n sole-less
poor, worn-torn-forlorn
See what happens with a second cup of coffee?
great thoughts spring forth
on the meaning of life!
spotted, striped
rich and sassy
all single, intermingled, every one
Noah would have had a nightmare …
light, dark
no room on his ark
but here they sit
on my couch
lying quiet
trying
not to be noticed
sharing coffee
ever-hopeful
of finding
the
perfect
mate
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