Rooms
by Odin Roark

How prescient that first room,
the one where under the bed
proved private the light,
where flashlight and toy soldier
became all that was needed.

Came

The room with desk,
where locked door
gave entrance to video games,
while parents assumed study.

Came

The SATs room,
Where curtains were drawn.
No boom box,
where silence begged,
knowing only study focus needed.

Came

The dorm room,
with beer-can-crushing-to-the-head roommate,
making for final exam hell,
where stolen passions
with sorority queen fantasy
made eating
a non sequitur.

Came

The office walls,
the room for fortune
made eventually corrupt
with drawn curtains of another kind.

Came

The marriage bed-room,
that place where all became prescient again,
where an impregnation would validate a wife’s existence,
while with mandatory acceptance
a husband’s duty would be carried out.

Came…

Came…

The rooms never stop.
Some…
Their final architecture,
becomes nursing-home green.
some of palm-frond-shack freedom.
Still others…
a Soho 3-story condo isolation.

Rooms

Curiously unknown until they are.

Forever one’s personal wall-measure.
Imagination struggles against
the capsule,
the coffin,
and finally…
destiny’s ever-conscious decision.