Don't Get Out Much
by Elias Bruno

People don’t do it for me anymore.
Town has lost all its appeal,
Stepping outside is like fighting a war,
But the enemy doesn’t seem real.
Going to the mail box has become quite a chore,
I’ve lost my youthful zeal,
For a while now I’ve not been out my door.
Will this wound ever heal?
My hands shake and my heart quivers,
I live in a land where nobody bothers,
My back aches and my body shivers,
And they’ve all forgotten about their mothers.
But my shrink says to breathe,
That’s all I really need.
No, what I need is a wreath.
Indeed.

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