We are standing at the sink
Punch drunk
Washing dishes
They drop through our hands
Like spiders
Falling is such a
Primitive move
I much prefer kicking
She exclaims
I would fight my way
Out of any hole
I believe her
And know that she
Would do it with grace
The clouds pass
By the window
We think of the farm
Where grandfather
Sits on the porch
Just another thing
We dreamed
After the farm
Was sold
To FedEx
Now we are stuck
In the tall building
No grass beneath our feet
Just noise
And shouting
Things which makes us
Feel unsafe
We put the dishes
To one side
Lie down on the bed
Close our eyes
And imagine fields
Horses
Cows
And sheep
How we would like to buy
The farm back
But those days are done
And here we must stay.
