A Comfortable Living Grave Poem by Kean Ghiero

After decades of life,
I feel I have found
what to do in these walls,
sitting back undignified
in a comfortable
leather armchair on wheels,
puffing smoke on a
new flat screen
liquid digital
crystal quartz
computer monitor.

The keyboard
under
my tapering fingers,
the cordless mouse,
a cup of black coffee

here

is where I am
supposed to be,
with the fridge full
of drinks and grub
in the cupboard.

I endure it,
waiting for
an improbable
phone call,
writing, reading,
not caring about
what will happen
to me as much as
what has happened
that allowed
me to find
what to
do and think
in these walls.

The house
is in a mess,
money
is scattered
around
on the floor,
with traces
of drugs,
poems and
left-over from
daily parties
when I alone
celebrate
my social suicide
dancing
in my grave.