Cold Countertops
| filed under: Poem, Poets, Poetry, Poet, Poems
©1993 Chris Abraham
Cold Countertops
I sit pensive
waiting for my
courage to pour
forth like virility
The cold countertops
sit upon marred orange
floors and I want
to dane on them
and feel my warmth
Sapped by their cool
conductive surfaces.
The floor crackled and
Fizzles with each
Alternating current
The outlets ripen
and their spoils turn
the revolutions of
supple vinyl sound
Play.