Dangerous Decor

there’s a TV against a wall
a sound box perching up on top
when I look around I see
the dregs of recent days
curling up in each stray corner

my table is invisible beneath paper
and the futon wears those clothes of mine
that are waiting for an ironing
when the cleaner comes
on Friday in a week or so

sometimes at night
I make the music cry out loud
so I can dance alone
in the spaces left upon the carpet beige
under a faded light from the weak-watt globes
that hardly shine enough
to show me where my feet should go
so I don’t stumble or maybe fall

even in my small domain there’s danger
of a stumble or a fall
if I’m careless or unwary
when the music cries
and I’m dancing
all alone

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© Frank Prem, 2000