out in the woods

the bed
which wasn't really a bed
but a hard
futon
was located in the basement
between
pillars of home and garden
magazines
dating back
to the Reagan era.
they wobbled if touched,
each standing three
foot in height.
clothes were hung
on wire hangers, each door
full, unable
to be closed.
the bed was where the dog
slept
during the day,
a horse blanket was folded
at the end,
fresh from the barn.
there was no light
but the overhead light
which was bare
and burned a hundred watts.
the windows
didn't open from fear
of snakes, locked
tight on both sides.
it was a hard relationship.
sleeping over,
with no tv, or radio or
cell phone reception.
once in a while there was
the rare doling out of affection
with
an occasional touch
on the shoulder,
when bringing you a sandwich
of tuna
with the crusts cut off, or a
bowl of soup
with a chicken bone rattling
about in a chipped bowl
found at a yard sale.