Saturday Morning
Without my glasses on, the world softens at about 10 feet.
Usually it feels Constricting, Confining, Claustophobic,
But today, it is my happy tent of reality.
It is as if the hazy blanket of morning has followed me into my afternoon.
Music churns itself lazily out of my black TV screen.
It too feels soft, not quite clear in my ear.
Reflecting in that black mirror is my perception,
Dancing across the screen.
The green spot that doomed its use at my father's company,
Invisible.
This poem is about:
Me