The Blinds

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The blinds are closed
White and grey
Held by string and fragile plastic knobs that shake

They shake in the wind and the rain
They will never let the light in

They swear to keep the angels at bay
And they do a good job of it

Some light seeps the leafy blinds
Finding the cracks, the cuts, the outs

The light finds the darkened room
The stench of wet towels and cheap cologne laced the room

Left on the floor clothes, hers and his
Sprawled across the linoleum floor
And filled with insecurity and mistrust

On the dresser a whiskey bottle
Half empty and lipstick stained to the opening
Perfume laces the sweat smell with an aroma
Fake and plastic-like

He has built this life
Surrounded by white walls and purple covers of a woman
The tasteless cottonmouth from cigarettes and bourbon

He made his world with stone tools left for him
Left with promise and perfection
Man-made I think but I’ve been told otherwise

And the s*** box bed, wooden stir-up pegs
and piss stained mattress

but the blinds do illuminate the mirror across the room
a mirror that stares back at the man

just staring and looking
saying get up you
get up

and sometimes he does
sometimes he goes to the blinds
and opens them





Join the Discussion

This article has 3 comments. Post your own now!

rcombs109 said...
Jun. 19, 2012 at 8:33 am
Wow!!! This is my fav!
 
Richard E. said...
Jun. 19, 2012 at 8:08 am
This is a wonderful poem. The author could be 15 or 50. Whatever the writer's age, the experiences implicit in the feelings and thoughts the poem expresses reflect the sensibilities of a thoughtful, observant artist with a well-developed writing style that does not intrude on the subjects at hand. I would like to read more by this artist.
 
Bichonronni said...
Jun. 17, 2012 at 9:54 pm
Very intense and graphic. He really paints a picture. Well done.
 
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