He stayed there most nights
and imagined summers
the buzz of bees and lawnmowers
combining into a symphony
with the colours of pansies,
peonies and tulips, their lips
open to sun drenched afternoons.
Without a broom, the leaves stayed –
autumn visitors that gave the floors
extra crunch when he rolled
sleep an empty thing, floating past
like a dream he wanted
but never seemed to grasp,
another reminder that he
wasn’t good enough for anything :
even the human basics seemed to fail him.