Think About It
The sky is usually empty.
Clouds don’t count – more like ideas
than furniture. I’ll never move in,
make it mine. Although I’ve tried,
I’ve yet to find its walls.
So, that old moose head
and my Elvis poster – they'll never
decorate heaven.
I’m nothing – a jealous neighbor.
Even the eggs I’ve tossed
at its windows return,
sully my home. Maybe the sparrow,
darting from birch limb to feeder
will lift its head a bit higher,
realize how good it could be.
© 2009 S. Thomas Summers
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