Sweet notes of tropic
getaway wend their way through
rooms unaccustomed to anything
better than cat pee and sour
winter endurance. I’d throw
open windows but don’t want
to share this cloud of exotic
wellbeing with any of my neighbors.
They’ll have to understand why I
am transported by an oriental ecstasy
that dims the lights of ordinary and
makes me forget the stench
of an average day.
I’m writing a poem every day in April as part of NaPoWriMo’s celebration of National Poetry Month. We may be able to live without poetry, but who would want to?