Tulips lean over the vase edge Color faded, wilting on the hearth
At the base lies the dog sleeping curled into a ball rays of sun warming him— A slight jerk, perhaps a dream
The sound of dripping from the clogged gutter outside the window
The clock on the brick wall ticks away out of rhythm with the drain pipe’s dripping— no rhythm at all this collaboration
Distressing like the rapping of young people’s music makes me long for Bach
I rise find the blue-tooth speaker the cell phone, amazon music press buttons slide screens
Bach centuries old joins in
(C) Glenda Kotchish 2022