Morning Poem #28 Poem by Wanda Phipps

I forgot the time
with old poems
old boxes
old papers
photographs
and the Big Bridge
got the boxes
I hope so
how'd you like
the party
blinds fell down
behind glasses and
stone face- the Brit
not speaking
only watching
evaluation
not enough room
squeezing emptiness
into space
giggles and spankings
old words
old thoughts
the books are packed
and labeled fic/lit
psych/phil
Homer to use
spirit books
there's a list
and this is another
slightly Japanese
wardrobe and
perfumed soaps
the 3-d glasses in
the photo and the
master of the house
of funk a turntable
unamplified
faux fur turns round
and round where
will the tryst be
this time- who are
the partners
old wine
old looks
a smile can be
not a smile
a kiss not a kiss
but a city
operational I am
with tea and mobility
fall into the rhythm
that's a sure step
old lines
old minds
step on the leather
there's volcanic O.
and she's in the desert
or Rosalind's feather
or Orlando's in the wall
a landscape will
succeed me- outlive me
be me
old ties
old blues
old tune
your machine's in the corner
broke your head on the moviola
now make the dinner table
new for a new beginning
put another coat of paint on the shelf
old tears
old ways
old baggage
here comes a twister
Annie's prison reports
charred records
cool breeze
cops on the corner
and bullhorns in the park
old name
old news
old fight