Tonight's Poet Corner: I Was Left With Nostalgia

I Was Left With Nostalgia
by Belinda Roddie

After a plate of beef wellington
and a tall, black glass of ale,
I settled into my purple slippers
and propped up a stool for my poor,
tired feet, so long abused
during a stint at a retail store,
shelving tampons and sanitary
napkins, and not much else.

Outside, there was snow, but
not much. It was like a glaze
of white paint against an unwilling
canvas. I stood up long enough to
make it to my desk, where I fetched
my journal. I wrote nonsense
for a good half hour before I gave up.

My stomach settled but my brain
unraveling like a loom, I tried to find
a way to calm the storm in my cortex,
to stave off bad dreams. Another drink
could help, or a second serving of
red meat, but the blubber I'd accumulate
would accomplish little for my mental
stability, and instead, I was left
with bad soaps on the telly, lousy heating,
and a simple desire to drop into the bath
tub and count the bubbles like a possessed
child in her brightest moment of glory.