The 9 to 5 Life

~For Mother

Wake up and walk downstairs to the

kitchen table that shines so triumphantly

due to the morning sun coming through

the picturesque wall-sized window.

Pour the flakes of corn into a bowl that

reminds you of your mother when she

would make you breakfast before you

headed off to school with a full stomach.

Start the faucet to the shower that you

used to fall asleep in every morning

 waiting for the water to turn from hot to

cold, eventually bringing you to wake.

Set out your clothing for the day on

your bed-shirt, pants, shoes-making sure

that every inch of fabric is tailored just

right to fit your given mood at the time.

Back to the kitchen, eat the cereal faster

than you used to, for getting to work seems

more important than getting to school was

back when your mother would drive you.

Hop in the shower in which the water is

already turning cold; there is no time or

need to fall asleep now for the water is

there to cleanse you, not to alarm.

Put on the clothes in the same order that

you set them out-shirt, pants, shoes-to

ensure that the mood you set earlier remains

in their threads now and for the rest of the day.

Head out the door, hop in the car, and drive

away slowly looking back to the picturesque

kitchen window that reflects the sun, reminding

you of exactly how simple life used to be.

© 2009, Austin A. Searfoss

A Poet Without a Muse -or- Thoughts of Emily D.

~In Honor of Emily Dickinson

My papers sit empty along with my mind.

My chest is vacant, my heart I can’t find.

I last saw it shattered in pieces across that cold floor,

As you trampled them over on your way out the door.

My verses once filled pages for you—

I wrote from my heart, for you were my muse.

Each poem showcased you in lyrical form

Until you ended it all with that silent storm.

I sit here now with nothing to write,

Holding back my feelings, holding back the fight.

I don’t know what to say or what to do—

I guess I just really loved writing for you.

My life is now empty for you were my everything—

I could picture you in almost anything.

You were the songs that I heard and the sights that I saw,

The thoughts I thought up and the art I would draw.

The day you left my life, my art disappeared,

Just as my eyes became masked by the tears.

My thoughts became distant, just as your soul—

My mind flew away without my control.

I saw you pass by (in my mind) the other day,

And I thought of so much to write and say.

However, I realized that my thoughts had no use,

For I was no longer your poet and you were no longer my muse.

© 2009, Austin A. Searfoss

Restaurant Slave

The salt and pepper shakers are running low tonight, but I don’t think I’ll fill them.

For if I was to add more grains they would surely win.

As the nights go by the glass containers will slowly empty,

Then they will know what it feels like to be me.

© 2008, Austin A. Searfoss