The ceiling fan lazily spins on the slowest Speed, so
I watch a movie that begs us to stay above fifty
In lieu of actual movement.
Matt is in the kitchen cooking dinner and
I am really in the mood for a glass of something but
He would never hear me if I yelled to ask for it.
Then as if he is reading over my shoulder
In he comes and asks cheerfully
If I would like water, wine, beer or something else.
Since its pizza for dinner, beer sounds like a fine choice.
I tell him the same and he clicks the fan chain
To increase the air flow in the living room.
Another day of rain and clouds left it a bit chilly
I ask him to please turn it back down, so he does.
The traffic is heavy at late rush hour
On our cut through street.
Cars and people both fly by
At a pace far too quick for my lazy temperament.
Townies walk by, caps on backward,
They hold hands and smile,
Freshly rinsed vehicles with loud music playing
Traverse asphalt that resembles Swiss cheese.
The pizza is crispy and Matt places
Beside my typing fingers, a piping hot plate
Of spinach and feta goodness.
Twilight dims and the light inside
Turns far too difused to continue to write.
The glow of the laptop screen causes wide, worn eyes and
I click on the floor lamp for incandescent illumination
But it is just not enough and I realize
The evening has fully set in.
Its time to give these fast fingers a rest
And fill my belly instead.