Outside

 

Outside

Outside there are no dishes

Only breeze and trees and all

Outside there are no tensions

Of relationships that call

No stale scents of leftover cooking 

Only fresh wafting out 

Outside there are no dishes

I guess 

That's why

I went out

 

I didn't know till I came in

What I was leaving for

Screens too loud too bright

Place too cramped door to door

Summer stuffy, evening cooped

 

So, round I went, on my lone

But lonely I was not

The breeze was cool, the sights were still, the smells so fresh and free

As on my lone I remembered the timeless longing I have to be

Out

On a summer evening, gulping it all in 

Since I've been seven...(or, likely, before)

 

Back then, though, I didn't know:

That outside there are no dishes

So, <now>, I'll most certainly be going out lots more