Leftovers
Richard Dinges Jr.
An open can of olives,
shelled shrimp in ziplock
bags, smoked salmon
that smells of yesterday,
my refrigerator casts
doubts on today,
with a cool waft of air
when I open the door,
a shock of bright light
on memories
that idle on shelves
after holidays pass
and gently decompose
into tomorrow.
Retirement
Richard Dinges Jr.
Just when I left the stupor
and stilted air of an office
chair buried in a room
with no shadows, lit
by sterile fluorescence
and dim monitor flicker,
just at that moment
the world shrank,
people retreated into
small home-bound rooms,
hid behind masks,
a world with no smiles,
only shrill shrieks of loss
and no protection from ghosts
that float in air to infect
our breath, and I still stare out
through dirty window panes
at freedom yet to be had.
writing from the soul and the mind