June Seventh-poem

by Samuel De Lemos

Feeling unpoetic today—
June seventh twenty sixteen.
I’ve been contemplating
¿why?
I don’t know.
I suppose
I can describe my room:

Wide arch into the bath
nicely shadowed white.
Fan above swirling at a
moderate speed.
The TV’s on but I’m not watching.
Purely background noise.
I’m lying on my bed with legs lazily spread.

My door is open while the light gently slips in.
I can feel the warmth of summer seep in through my window shutters like a thin veil; pushed aside by the
cool breeze of the air conditioner kissing my face.

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