Fragile Attempts

Today I took some time to sit and read poetry, and essays about poetry. This, along with the beer I was sipping, helped relax me enough to write some decent verse. Or at least I think it is decent.

The mail came early,

you arrived late.

I had left early to greet you

but was met only by bills

and trash cans waiting

to be taken from the curb.

The house was full

of worry-breeding still.

Windows to idylls

showing crystalline fractures.

I read The New Yorker.

You arrived late.

The mail is on the counter.

It is good to see you.