The Living Room by Emma Cooke
This poem is for anyone who used to be house-proud but is now simply proud (and tired).
The Living Room
It’s mine.
A latte for the eyes,
Mellow Mocha melts into Soft Truffle,
Melts into Cream Expression,
Denying I worked for it.
Shoes are forbidden in this temple,
But toes can bathe like Egyptian Queens,
I dip in – and the armchair dissolves me away.
It’s ours.
An electric guitar, band-less but loved, changes the room’s tune,
Fires up its rhythm (not the only fantasy played here),
A medley of takeaways perfume the air,
Tonight’s TV dinner or tomorrow’s cold fare?
A smatter of beer stains shaped like Japan,
Or maybe a map to our future.
It’s yours.
A single trail of raisins betrays your latest mission,
To the shop behind the sofa or the spaceship on the chair,
The carpet jungle hides a plastic menagerie,
I discover their teeth with my feet.
Armoured vehicles patrol the TV as I search for diplomatic channels.
Your territory is marked in fingerprints that get higher by the day…..
© Emma Cooke 2013
An anthology of modern short fiction recounting the quirkiness of the everyday, featuring DJ Mac and others.
DJ Mac is a writer based in Edinburgh, Scotland who fouters (dithers) with an itchy, scratchy pen in the moments when the bewilderment provoked by life settles. He is easily distracted by the bright pictures in his gallery.
