Domestic Portrait
My girlfriend works at cross-stitch on the sofa
While the TV serenades her with sitcoms.
Each little prick is greeted with canned laughter.
I entertain myself with CD-ROMs.
Thus we spend our nights, without departure,
With sharpened steel and simulated bombs.
Each picture that she stabs at seems to be
An enigmatic reference to me.
The towns I turn to fire from above
Ran on the false economy of love.
© David Lumsden, 2012
This poem was published in Tirra Lirra (Australia) and Aura (U.S.A.)