Poetry Porch: Poetry

 

Acorns Rolling Off the Roof
by Kathleen Kirk

Itís the middle of the night, and I canít sleep.
Having a little wine, to be done, then down.
Noises like footsteps, acorns rolling off the roof,
and a car door slams, somebody else up and around.

I wish I had told you, that time in the cafť,
how it is with me now. Your hair had gone whiter,
you needed a trim, and I didnít notice it then
till you told me. Maybe thatís why I was too quiet.

Thereís trouble I canít solve. Itís in you, itís in me.
People donít know how to talk to each other anymore.
Did they ever? They learned when they wrote letters.
People donít know how to love each other anymore.

They say foxes roam this neighborhood at night,
looking for rabbits, and possums, and skunks.
They say coyotes come here, too, happy with roadkill
and garbage. I might wait up for the songbirds.

Itís the middle of the night, and I canít sleep.
Having a little wine, to be done, then down.
Noises like footsteps, acorns rolling off the roof,
and a car door slams, somebody else up and around.

I wish you had told me, that time in the cafť,
how it is with you now. My hair has gone whiter,
Iím happy with nothing, and you didnít notice it then
till I told you. Maybe Iím just not a fighter.

They say people fly when they dream of flying,
fall in their falling dreams. The trick is not to land.
They say lovers hear each other calling, in the night,
when theyíre apart. The trick is not to answer.

Thereís trouble I canít solve. Itís in you, itís in me.
People donít know how to talk to each other anymore.
Did they ever? They learned when they wrote letters.
People donít know how to love each other anymore.


Copyright © 2009 by Kathleen Kirk.
Authorís note: This poem is structured after Leonard Cohenís ďFamous Blue Raincoat.Ē