bickering this morning
with the hall
rug,
the long runner
that leads
to the door,
how one
edge sticks up and i nearly
trip and fall
every morning
over it
as i carry my cup of coffee
into the other room.
i give it a piece
of my mind.
but i love the look of it,
the color,
the way
the sun hits it in the afternoon.
an expensive
Persian number.
but like most
beautiful things,
it's
living on borrowed
time.
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