contentment

i am alien to this
contentment i cannot stroke
its hand or give brave my shoulder
solid in our embrace of loss
it is as uncomfortable as hand-me-down shoes
as a wooden chair leery of guests as
motel prints greasy in their frames and somewhat
off kilter
it has nap rates and soon soon
at some predesignated check out time
contentment will find itself stuck
to the carpet over which so many
have paused to rest
come with me my bellows
we’ve little time to lose
we’ve little time to submit
to such complacencies
as this

Image: Oziel Gómez on Unsplash