With my fists
Half-heartedly
Balled up
(Without vigor
Enough to make
My knuckles white)
And stuffed
Into the pockets
Of my jeans
I lean my bony hip
Against
The marble countertop
And wait
For the hot water
In the kettle
It does
Eventually
Bubble audibly
I look up
At the cracks
In the ceiling
And exhale
In the dark
Of the kitchen
(We leave the lights off
To save
On electricity)
Before I can
Pour the water
Into my mug
I walk away
To write
This
August 08, 2021 at 09:37AM