MY ROOM

MY ROOM

In my room the walls are white
And books are stacked hip high;
A picture of my mom beneath the light
Where Father’s Day presents lie
In a jumble, clay masks and cards
Different halls in different wards.

A room in a house on a block in a city
My single glowing ingot in the kitty,
The ante, the opposite, Uncle and Dad,
This padded posterior of four white walls,
Were not constructed to be had by the mad
But were meant to be mental feed stalls.

So book after book I did put down
Roots that went after rare water
And the room grew larger than the town
And I neglected to look after my daughter.
Town that was a room is an island now
That lies forty miles off the starboard bow.