Everything in the room turned away 

The teacup turned its delicate porcelain handle 

Felt dollies ripped out their hair, leaving tendrils of glue 

The articulated lamp contorted itself in fear 

And the winged-back chair with duck upholstery wished it was a bird 

I tried to explain 

But they did not understand language 

Not the kind from sound anyway 

Only the almanac, with its tattered spine 

and dog-eared pages, stared at me 

​

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© the author