Nothing

Nothing


Kitty sits on my bed
as I write this.
My typing annoys her.

Half drunk bottles of Mountain Dew
sheer pink polish and Obsession
seize my space,
with unopened packages of pens,
a mug of pennies and a bottle of
Spice Islands whole cloves.

Lucy Maud Montgomery
stole my bookshelf,
along with Gertrude Stein,
a few cookbooks
and my Precious Moments Bible.
48 dolphins swim in the
dust of my dresser.

This room is not mine.
I was never meant to be here.

Kenny said I could stay
until I was on my feet
again, so
he’s shacking in the basement,
and I’m here
writing about nothing.