'This is a poem
about nothing
about something
this is a poem
about someone standing
someone lying down
somewhere with doors
closed, doors
open: people are eating
breakfast perhaps: their faces
are peaceful
with chewing
with tasting
sharp smells rise up
from the street, rise up
from beds, from carseats
men and women are walking
they are all going somewhere
else: their arms
swing, their legs
swing
from their hips their clothes
hide, their clothes
reveal:
there are always secrets
among us someone is lying down
somewhere or else
someone is standing up
the doors there are open
the doors there are closed'
- a poem by Wayne Dodd
