conduit

post-it note reminds him:
“FIX THE FRIDGE”
familiar voices from inside the radio,
the click of a kettle,
the pop of the toaster

the knife scrapes
scattering buckshot over the papers
waiting on the table.

The news nestled between the salt and
pepper,
cups of tea.
An egg,
a soldier lays
bleeding yellow.

The boards are still up against the window
cracks small enough for him to peer out.

He hasn’t left the house for 63days
and his face itches,
flies are gathering
but he’s not missing human contact.

If it reaches that stage,
if there is a requirement for human
contact he has a plan to kidnap the postman.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s