Worrying, deepening wrinkles,crows feet at my edges of timecut deeper from winds & stormsinto a well worn wall, adobe thick,mud proofed in the sunof my distresses. Storms, find me frettingover uselessness. Silverware,china patterns, the right gaugeshot gun, sofa colors & styles,impenetrable impeccable prayers,correctly folded towels, right answersdishes in the dishwasher stackedin strictest order. Ah, lost …

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Who’s knocking at the backdoor of my eyelids…….Its’ one forty-seven a.m.! Doesn’t that bird know it is one fifty-five in a dark morning.Hours before day break. I wrestle with my sheetsTo fall deeper into her foldsto silence the parade of words. –SB Joy © SB Joy

The club house is empty. The desperate voices silent in the jukebox. No clank from a cueball. My parts are on strike. Practicing social distancing, each has decided to stay  home and watch reruns – Leave It To Beaver, Father Knows Best, Road Runner, Gilligan’s Island, Julie Childs, the Galloping Gourmet, Mr. Ed, followed by …

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How is it I was terrified as a child and no one took notice? Mostly likely it was because those in charge of noticing were the monsters under the bed. They were the conundrum. Without them I would die, with them I may die. A child stuck in mid-air, weightless, unattached and discombobulated. What to …

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