Sonnet
The kitchen sighs relief for lack of use
just as the fridge begins its cradling
of food we overordered in our use
of eyes too hungry for light ladling.
And here is our reward for the noisy day.
Our respite from the scavenging around.
Now, even all the wind appears at bay
to help ensure we will not leave this ground.
The Southie streets had parted to let by
your tapped out feet, the bags I carry on.
We can pretend to be the reason why
tonight there's no unsettling of dawn.
Our clothes and arms hang loosely on our waists
but hands still settle into bedtime braced.
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