Matthew is a man
Who wears glasses
He stares at his laptop
And sips
Alcoholic beverages
He has a bemused look on his face
He glances at his phone
Waiting for a text
Swipe swipe swipe
His head nods to the beats
Of Lauryn Hill
All hail
“ you might win some ”
His foot twitches to the music
“ matt is not very good at turning people on ”
He says, in a rhyme of which I can not remember the first line
And then he attends to his sludgy rice
Sloping it onto the plate
He grabs his sharpie
Creates a phallic shape
Out of the T in the word The on an
Expensive bottle of wine
Pours another glass
He moves slowly out of the dining room chair
His back sore from a day of painting
And settles in a wicker chair,
The slow groan of the seat, reminiscent of most childhoods
Changes music
Justin Vernon
Acetate
Studying his hands,
“ these are my favourite things about me ”
Calloused and bruised
“ cant touch a women with these ”
Reaching for his book
He mentions cowboys and passages that are only written in
Espanol
His daughter won a spelling bee
And is good at math
As was he
“Prodigy”
He has a stack of books
They are all about the light
Or the lack thereof
“ how the light gets in ”
His head is often in his hands
And perhaps with his thoughts
Another glass of white
He yawns
“ i guess this is me for the night ”
Turns a page.
Matthew is a kind man
He leaves me coffee in the morning
And next to it a single flower