This is my afternoon: warm washcloth, angry sty
Meditation interrupted by teen flyby
Project started: more teens arrive
Waiting for my teen
Teens who eat my chips: I love you
I love that tea means gossip
That teens administer psychology freely
While eating the chips, just bought
This isn’t a poem, but a writing down of what is right now
How we always feel in-between what was & what comes next
While what is involves bags of chips
Full then half full then empty
They tell me their homes lack chips.
We have chips and real tea.
I drink tea and listen to the “T.”
I am behind the times and catching up.
I’m firmly established in the chip days.
I’m full of crumbs and glad.