Poems from Kathleen Cassell
A puddle of mush
A working man shucks his coat
The couch he must rush.
Bored from his job
Saved by the T.V. remote
The day melts away.
...
Dear Hand,
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for all that you have had to endure.
You’ve been pushed, beaten, and throttled to unforgivable limits....