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That's Life

My poor life. What is it doing here with me, what am I doing with it?

My poor life swims in and out, looking for coral or a few good waves.

I sit in a room and it's like failing to light the same match over and over.

I sit next to my life, both of us too afraid to sing in front of each other.

I go to the piano, plink-plink. "Like rain..."

My poor life nods, for my sake. I pick up a cup one of us left on the windowsill, staring out.

I drink what's left. My life looks around the room.

We are waiting for the other to leave so we can feel free to weep a little.

There is nothing but silence between us and maybe a couple birds.

My poor life reaches out to me at all the wrong times, and I do the same to it.

It's getting dark. I walk toward the kitchen, turn on the light and glance back.

My poor life.

Somehow I have failed it again.

Story by:

Anton Frost

submitted at 2:20am

15 January 2012

Anton Frost's web: