Friday, November 11, 2011

In the House

He stands up on the table
and gets savage. He yawns: too
many conversations in one bed.
He gets to be excited about things,
builds a fort under the table,
he brings things he loves
into the house.


The sound of a bike
bell indoors can startle, but clear
the air. It all looks beautiful until
I put my glasses on, I am not ashamed.


The lightest wind blew in Union Square
and a giant oak tree let go of all its yellow leaves.


Look, he says, the whole world is sparkling
but I know he means his watch
which has just been shined by
a professional.


The vague mathematics
of the day; what we get rid of;
what we bring into the fold of our
lives; leaning into a stranger inadvertently
on the subway as it comes to a sudden stop.


When I was a boy I collected
matchbooks in an old blue Adidas shoebox.
When I visited my father two years ago,
I threw them all away because I feared they would
spontaneously combust and burn my
father's house down.


Anonymous Kimberly said...

I like this very much, Todd. Good, good stuff!

9:16 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Kick-ass poem-love it!

6:47 PM  
OpenID kluschek said...

stanza five = delicious.

8:48 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

and I'll add: whole poem = delicious.

5:47 PM  
Blogger Todd Colby said...

Hey Kluscheck-
Thanks for the kind words. Always a pleasure to see you here! Keep up the good work on your blog too! I love it.

10:33 AM  
Blogger Todd Colby said...

And Kimberly-

Thank you, thank you, thank you. X

10:34 AM  

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