Poem #1

Isn’t it strange?
It’s the little things that make you feel like yourself again.
Times have been out of sorts,
not quite the same as they’d been,
though unusually the same as ever.
How odd.
Where have these thoughts been?
Keeping the feelings from being lonely, perhaps.
Maybe it was a road trip where your ID was left behind.
Guess they forgot the invite,
otherwise he would have rsvp’d.
Course, no one wants to send out a note to Ego.
Such a killjoy.
I hope it was a good trip, but are they out the door again?
Wish they’d ask the rest of us along.
Bet they have fun.
It’d be alright if they’d just remember to mail a postcard.
A little something to put on the fridge.
Well, that’s just how they are, myself and feelings.
They come and go,
But at least they’re thoughtful and don’t drink from the milk jug.
Wipe their feet at the door,
always full of cheer and stories.
Still, so strange.
Hope they come back for a visit soon.