Sitting in my living room
just reading
I hear the sound of tiers rolling across gravel.
It’s four o’clock already and my father’s home.
I run to my room and turn out the lights.
Maybe trick him into thinking I wasn’t home
or I was asleep.
I was hoping to avoid another lecture
from my father about breakfast cereals and bowls.
So I sit at my desk in the dark
armed only with a fudge sickle,
I sit and read poetry
by the light of my computer screen
I eventually hear my mom’s voice.
She’s talking to my father
about the weather or money
or my older brother or some (poop) .
I sit in my room in the darkness.
I don’t want to hear it from her either
“What have you done all day? ”
“Do you have a job yet? ”
“I don‘t understand you sometimes…”
So I sit and read poetry
By the light of my computer screen
armed only with a fudge sickle stick.
Andrew Rutherford
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fudge-sickle-sticks-redux/
