The Inhibitionist’s Lament

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Sara is all wrapped-up,

In her happy place,

her humble living space.

The novel,

on her night table,

Has dust on it’s near-mint jacket.

Her desk,

Has an eclectic collection,

of clutter,

tchotchkes,

trash,

and unfinished business.

The floor is adorned,

with the finest once-worn

clothes, yet, under her bed,

was where she hid the rest of her mess.

She spent her time in warmth and comfort,

Pushing away remnants of waste and excess,

To the back of her mind,

and the last uncovered corners,

of her room.

“Tomorrow,”

she said yesterday,

“I should have to bite the bullet and pick this stuff up,”

It’s 2:18 P.M.

and she has not yet left bed.

But this is the life of the inhibitionist,

Spend your life covering your problems,

Until they become too hard to deal with.

“If at once you don’t succeed,

Recede,

Recede,

Recede.”

Cult-Classics

Standard

Night falls,

As Ana slides open the screen-door,

And snuck into her house with her friends,

While her parents 

sleep peacefully,

Unaware of tonight’s meeting.

The following entered single file,

Approached the shelf,

gathered around,

And pored over

the needed materials.

Meticulously,

They made their selections,

Offerings that each member agreed to.

Each had their own predilections

Toward eighties ultra violence,

Black comedy,

Or pre-recorded VHS tapes,

Of since-cancelled television,

With commercial breaks,

Intact.

“Cut the lights,”

The time has come

for another sleepless night,

Sitting entranced.

Volume at near-silence,

Doors tightly shut,

Muffling cheers for the anti-hero,

Laughter and schadenfreude,

Shuffling seats,

To avoid

potential tut-tuts

Of disgruntled authority.