There's Nothing on TV at 5 pm
Mike L. Nichols
It’s too hot in the front room
late summer afternoons.
The sun bakes in, cooks the couch, makes
me dizzy, my skin prickly. Mom is in the kitchen,
her rag squeak-squeaking against a sudsy plate.
As long as my chores are done, I get to be happy.
Because she hates it, being the only one
who ever does anything around here.
My sister’s ghost does not come here. Not even out
back to relax in the deep shade of the weeping willow.
A Star Wars action figure sometimes falls off my
yellow shelf, maybe Princess Leia, but I know
that it is my fault, because I failed
to stand it up with its little plastic feet perfectly flat.
Poltergeists just exist in scary movies,
and not in real life.
Mike L. Nichols
It’s too hot in the front room
late summer afternoons.
The sun bakes in, cooks the couch, makes
me dizzy, my skin prickly. Mom is in the kitchen,
her rag squeak-squeaking against a sudsy plate.
As long as my chores are done, I get to be happy.
Because she hates it, being the only one
who ever does anything around here.
My sister’s ghost does not come here. Not even out
back to relax in the deep shade of the weeping willow.
A Star Wars action figure sometimes falls off my
yellow shelf, maybe Princess Leia, but I know
that it is my fault, because I failed
to stand it up with its little plastic feet perfectly flat.
Poltergeists just exist in scary movies,
and not in real life.
