We’ve been uncomfortable for a week
We twist and shift our chairs
And ignore the

Awkward spaces between the couches
If only the table were a bit smaller
Perhaps then it would be different . . .

I wish we could stop
Push and squeeze
“Can’t we just remove the legs?”

Our bed isn’t made for wrestling
Wrapped in blankets to buffer the bumps
A few groans and grunts and it's over

It's al[l ]so moving

VCR

From its wooden grotto
My VCR watches the events of my life.
It waits in secret suffering
Resting in its lair.
God-like from above, it doesn't care.
Frustrated by the scent
Of the cupboard full of candies
Wrapped in their bright boxes
Just below its home.
Just out of reach.
It longs for our worship.
Still waiting,
On its four stubby legs
In its box turtle shell.
I open the cupboard, and feed the beast.
Softly, it groans.
It licks the black licorice ribbon.
Sometimes I sit,
And watch it think,
As it sucks on tapes.

Yeah, take it or leave it.

---who asked you anyway?