Poem: Marta by Adrian Slonaker

Marta

Marta doesn’t mind
the ponderousness of her vast purple valise
and would gladly lug it
over hot copper trails
if it meant leaving there.
She’d relocated for seven months
to pursue a promising project
that morphed into mindless laptop tapping
as she endured dark days
shrouded in beige bedclothes,
lamenting the loudness of
snow clearance and drunks beneath her window
and a loop of reality shows
as she battled lassitude
and subsisted on overpriced pineapple pop and fish and chips
dropped off at her dreary apartment door
since basic cookery was like climbing Kilimanjaro.
Marta dreaded bedsores but noticed none,
managing to wash the daily dust
from her neglected pale skin.
Yet now, as she spies the relentlessly orange taxi
that will transport her to the tiny seaside airport,
she feels more fit than fifty free-runners.
She is finally heading home;
no one is waiting there.


Adrian Slonaker works as a copywriter and copy editor in Urbandale, Iowa. USA. Adrian’s work has appeared in The Bohemyth, Queen Mob’s Tea House, Pangolin Review, Manzano Mountain Review, The Honest Ulsterman, and others.  


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