Laying on the living room floor this afternoon as daughters one and two built a fort out of the coffee table and blankets and as number three fell asleep on my chest, this poem came to mind. Since I can't find it anywhere on the web, I can't link to it, so I'll just post an excerpt in hopes that I'm not breaking any copyright laws.Happy reading about, well, a whole lotta nuthin'.
* * * *
Days When Nothing Happens
by David Tucker
(from Days When Nothing Happens [Slapering Hol Press, 2004])
On days when nothing happens
a jet loafs overhead, an hourglass of smoke
fanning out behind it.
On days when nothing happens
a paper sack plays in the street, your overcoat hangs
and forgets you[,]
[...]
the mantel clock calls
the small noises back to the house,
a daughter's red sneaker
sits all afternoon on the window sill,
trying to be quiet.
That's a fun one.
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