Sep 142014

by Dan Leach




We never escape the war

with the things we think we own.

As soon as you make peace

with the temperamental engine,

you will no doubt discover

sabotage stirring fresh

in a tiny plastic button

you once considered innocent.


The sole red sock

lying lonely in the dryer

will forever mock your awe

as his brother tumbles down

some underground railroad

nobody will ever discover.


The crooked hanging frames

will shake with silent laughter

as the pearl-white carpet catches

a fallen plate of spaghetti

and another helpless sigh.


Every day a brand new battle:

stubborn screws and tangled cords,

loose knobs and shrunken shirts,

the corner that nicks your shin,

and the couch that steals your keys.


But once in a while, a ceasefire settles,

a brass lamp’s light falls tender

and a pillow holds your neck

as you settle into the evening

with a old, familiar book

that falls open right to your page.