Trish Saunders

Use of the word ‘indolence’ in a poem about drinking 

“Nobody but you will get it,” she says, while

pouring herself another glass of wine.  

“I don’t care if it’s one of your favorite words.”

I can’t think of a smart  answer,

too busy watching her tee shirt

sliding down her shoulder,

not in a good way,

definitely not a “hey there, sailor”

way, more of an,  “I can’t be bothered to fix it” way. 

Yes, I use the word indolence a lot 

a nicer word than ‘lazy’

to me, it means standing around

drinking coffee with a strong dose of sugar,

cream, and Kahlua mixed together,

preferably with eyes closed 

preferably in your own home,

wearing only an old blue shirt 

with maybe ripped khakis 

or just your underwear 

and the sleeve will slip down your arm

and you won’t care. 

They can’t reach you there

in your own home,

safe with your own bones 

and your favorite memories

hidden in your sock drawer--

things you want to remain

exactly the same 

in your life, your indolent life.