Tilt

The world is tilting.
Close your eyes
And still your breath 
And you can feel
The slightest wobble
In its spin.

My older friend no longer
Leaves his house.
He sits so still on top his rocking chair.
He's growing restless,
Somewhat spastic,
With the daily news
And looking at
The rifle over the fireplace
More often than he used to.
"Something drastic," he mutters to himself,
Forgetting I am there.

After leaving the fluorescent room,
She passed me in the hallway,
Smiling and keeping tabs
From out the corner of her narrow eyes,
Quite obvious in expectation I'd engage.
I used to water all the flowers
Now I pour upon the ones which bloom.

- 2/10/26

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