Highlighter

The sun is coming through the grime,

the blinds are slanted, sharp and gold.

I’m wasting all my morning time

watching how the day gets old.

A legal pad is on the wood,

it’s full of names I never call.

I’d reach for them if I only could,

but I’m staring at the kitchen wall.

The bruise upon my arm is pale,

a sulfur yellow, bruised and deep.

The lemons in the bowl are stale,

and I’m just trying not to sleep.