• I stumble off the bus,
    Mail box staring off into
    The distance at a tree of
    No real importance…
    Well, obviously more
    Important than me as
    It seems to be more interesting
    Than the owner of the mail
    It holds so kindly in its
    Gullet.

    Upon withdrawing the ethereal
    Voices from the metal fish-mouth,
    I walk down the drive way into
    The hole I dwell in, striving for
    A warm greeting of any kind.
    The tree waves airily at me…
    Or is it waving at the other tree
    Beyond me? Or maybe it’s just
    Swaying with the wind: it
    Tends to do that a lot too.

    I enter the house, greet the
    Door by shutting it back into
    Its place. Shuffling forward I’m
    Greeted by a dog, who wants
    Nothing to do with me as much as
    The people that he smells on my
    Clothes. The couch looks up but
    Quickly nods back to sleep as I
    Am of no use: my parents are the ones
    Who will be watching his friend the
    TV in the corner of the room so
    Often at night.

    My trip leads me to the bathroom,
    Where a toilet flushes and a sink
    Drains, weary of their menial tasks
    Of hygiene on their parts. No hellos:
    Just their job to finish. I walk to the
    Bed room, place a box who
    Murmurs a “here we go again”
    As he is slung to the bed
    As a royal throne for
    Sasha, who governs what
    I do in my spare time so aptly
    That I might as well start
    Paying a services bill
    For every word document
    I write.

    Sasha starts up, Windows 7
    Boot screen pops up into
    My field of vision as the
    Aqua/sky-blue circle spins
    Hypnotically at me, trying
    To make me forget that Sasha
    Likes to take her time warming up.
    A serene picture of Gotham
    Appears on the screen after a type
    The password to her .

    Skype starts up, and human friends
    Start to ask questions. “Hello!”
    “Hola!” “How was your day?”
    “`Zup?” conversations are boring.
    Facebook pops up with comments
    Following the lines of “This makes
    No sense” “lol, wut?” “Whatevs…”
    Only good reply is posted as a private
    Message to me: “How are you? Really?”

    I finish up the work, turn Sasha off,
    Grab a cup of tea, slip into a
    Bed that desperately needs cleaning
    From an owner who cares enough
    To strip it of its clothing and shove
    It into the open-mouthed washer
    The light turns off with my focus
    Directed on a picture that proclaims
    The love an ex felt for me months ago…
    Tears of the past flood my eyes, like always.

    I wake up.
    I eat.
    I shower.
    I pack my bags,
    Sasha gets stuffed into
    Her gray satchel.
    I mosey up the drive way,
    Put on a fake smile for the
    Mail box, who knows better:
    He stares off into
    The distance again,
    Ignoring the musings of
    A young man in denial.