a poem a day for a year #138

by Amy Turn Sharp


the day is over pretty much
with a whimper
it banged all day
took a swing every now and again
punched me like I had signed up for fight club
like I had a pair
spare fear
wicked jab
but now it is falling
out of reach
let's try and think of good things while we sleep
clean sheets
your skin on mine
the open window
fat babies
mouths falling open in the peaceful
deep night