When No One Really Cares

my role has
always been
to fix
broken stairs

to oil the
rusty hinges of
the door &
wipe those
misty
glass windows
of their
haze

to plant the
runners
along the stony
pavements
of the house

i like it when
it is green
and covered
as things appear
cool
and vibrant against
the walls
beneath the sun

i replace old
lamps
i like it when
the room is
bright with
light
at night

i like it when
everyone of you
in this house
is comfortable with
warm soup on the
table
when the cold nights
of November
begins to
shiver

when you look
for a candle
and a lighter
i always have
them with
me

what i think is
hurting is that
i am not fixed
myself

i am a broken rail
a malfunctioning lamp
a dark room
a cold soup a
rusty hinge
a missing stair
and yet
no one
no one really
cares.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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