My skin is starting to sag,

and teeth are loosening.

I leave a room to three half-open drawers,

can’t find my glasses,

sleep 5 hours to be up at 3 AM.


By 4, I’m somewhat composed, coffee-ed,

and recounting if there is an agenda for today?

What am I going to write about?

Are we scheduled to do anything,

and of course, what’s for dinner?


April is the cruelest month,

It’s also National Poetry Month,

and I’ve committed to write something,

every day, hopefully readable,

maybe becomes a poem.


Turns out the new dishwasher is

being delivered. We need to pick up

our granddaughter from school.

All the relaxed 4 AM composure,

slips into retired, but hectic mode.


There will be no PT, no daily walk,

no nap or time to prepare dinner,

cocktails are out.

I hurry to finish attempting, to

write something about today.


I show it to my wife,

she’s always my first read –

she says it seems rushed,

and reminds me that I’ve been leaving

drawers half-open for 50 years.


Craig Kirchner

Craig Kirchner thinks of poetry as hobo art, loves storytelling and the aesthetics of the paper and pen. He has had two poems nominated for the Pushcart, and has a book of poetry, Roomful of NavelsAfter a writing hiatus he was recently published in Decadent Review, Wild Violet, Last Leaves, Literary Heist, Ariel Chart, Cape Magazine, Flora Fiction, Young Ravens, Chiron Review, Valiant Scribe, Borderless Crossings, The Main Street Rag, and several dozen other journals

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