Favorite Retreat Poem by L MILTON HANKINS

I like this room. Gold draperies
we couldn't afford, gathered
to let the outside in;
sheers tickling the windowsill
then escaping the gape
to gesture wildly at passersby.

The wife's chagrin when the blind
snapped a salute, and I laughed
at Grandma's cane rocker shifting
nervously like she couldn't endure
another round of sighs.

The golden anniversary clock
which hasn't chimed since I
turned twenty-one.

I like this room on a rainy
June day when there's no where else
I can go to think about important things
that ought to be thought about.