Curtains

I ask: Who opens and closes their own curtain of life with absolute peace of mind?

My curtains may be closed for a few days,
As I write a sad sonnet. One that tells of a bird with a spatula for a left wing.

Next week my curtain may be open at dawn.
Whipping out my spatula to make French crepes. To welcome the police that I am about to call.
My pills ran out.

It’s my sonnet.
It’s my spatula.
You don’t see me burning down your curtains because I can’t deal with your mood.
Create your own peace,
sew your own curtain of style,
and take your own pill.

Ahh, Jessica, you twitchy rascal.

It has been a pleasure.

CHAU!