MY ROOM

MY ROOM

In my room the walls are white

And books are stacked hip high;

A picture of my mom beneath the light

Where Father’s Day presents lie

In a jumble, clay masks and cards

Different halls in different wards.

A room in a house on a block in a city

My single glowing ingot in the kitty,

The ante, the opposite, Uncle and Dad,

This padded posterior of four white walls,

Were not constructed to be had by the mad

But were meant to be mental feed stalls.

So book after book I did put down

Roots that went after rare water

And the room grew larger than the town

And I neglected to look after my daughter.

Town that was a room is an island now

That lies forty miles off the starboard bow.