Carpet
Literature, Poetryyear after year the convicts spoke their dream about the feel of grass
how they longed to put aside stone floors
blacktop where they shot hoops & walked mile upon mile to nowhere
they would sit under a shade tree sipping chilly beer
while free hands feathered green hair of some former love revisited
or they would play a game of barefoot baseball with their boys
the ones they hadn’t seen since the dark ages
while a dog barked & sweat bees chased the honey on young necks
yet I preferred to imagine the artificial turf cushioning steps
on my way to a softer bed how it would glide me
over it like the plane of a swimming pool
that kind island smelling of dust & hued like grass or else
a muted beige as if made from skins of teddy bears
I swore I’d pace the room for an hour
