The Perch

A Poem

Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash

Amused or away
face towards the party
the drinks
the skin that drew you
in the first place
Setting up a myriad
of beds
conjuring the same
story with slight differences
like a name
Pasted against the sallow
lined walls
permissive of the aesthetic
but not finding
comfortable space for the
feet, for the feelings
the tantrum
the agony of pressure
that doesn’t want to leave yet
or not
without making a scene
And you didn’t
become a playwright
so that scene stays in your
head
And your remarks become
ephemeral, soft
lost
right after you’ve spoken
them

J.D. Harms 2021