SITTING, ON THE CORNER
SITTING, ON THE CORNER
Her daughter and I listen carefully for the door to open,
cartoons play in the background.
Trying to color inside the lines,
the aroma of a chicken nugget dinner
creeps through the apartment.
Weeks of dishes sit in the sink.
I scrub, she chews,
and before she swallows,
she tugs on my shirt
wanting to play hide and go seek.
Slowly counting,
my fingers like tweezers
plucking soggy roaches from the tub.
Continuing the search,
trying to stand milk and soda on sloping shelves
while picking clothes off the floor
and shoving them into drawers filled with old LifeStyles.
“I can’t fit in there silly,” she yelled!
The loser has to give a piggyback ride.
Bouncing off my back from side to side,
as much love as I could have for a little girl
who is not my own.
Her eyelids begin to stutter,
I tuck her in
gluing sheets to her chin.
Hours later the door slams, the blind
falls like it always does.
Heels explode on the floor,
dress parachutes to the carpet,
I stare at a figure that was once
only touched by my hands.
Her mom stares back, but I never say much.
Somewhere in our teens I stopped telling her
things would change.
I walk towards and open the door,
hang the blind and shut it softly.
I put on my headphones
and walk home
listening to my favorite song as it skips.
Her daughter and I listen carefully for the door to open,
cartoons play in the background.
Trying to color inside the lines,
the aroma of a chicken nugget dinner
creeps through the apartment.
Weeks of dishes sit in the sink.
I scrub, she chews,
and before she swallows,
she tugs on my shirt
wanting to play hide and go seek.
Slowly counting,
my fingers like tweezers
plucking soggy roaches from the tub.
Continuing the search,
trying to stand milk and soda on sloping shelves
while picking clothes off the floor
and shoving them into drawers filled with old LifeStyles.
“I can’t fit in there silly,” she yelled!
The loser has to give a piggyback ride.
Bouncing off my back from side to side,
as much love as I could have for a little girl
who is not my own.
Her eyelids begin to stutter,
I tuck her in
gluing sheets to her chin.
Hours later the door slams, the blind
falls like it always does.
Heels explode on the floor,
dress parachutes to the carpet,
I stare at a figure that was once
only touched by my hands.
Her mom stares back, but I never say much.
Somewhere in our teens I stopped telling her
things would change.
I walk towards and open the door,
hang the blind and shut it softly.
I put on my headphones
and walk home
listening to my favorite song as it skips.