Issue
#1

January
2009

a poem by Colin James

PROCRASTINATION IS THE
FOOTREST OF THE SOLE

The rat in the parlor
thinks we're accommodating,
leaves little altars of belief
for us to process.
There is also a manual of instructions
he drags round with him,
the corners all dogeared and frayed.
Scratches on the floor
are not just from his gnawing,
rather his portable podium
that doesn't quite fit
through the hole.
At night he holds meetings.
We are often awoken
by a chorus of cheers.
The exterminator
won't set foot here.
She asks us to be patient.
Some animals are born leaders, she says.
Most have no opinion at all,
do as they're told.

© Colin James

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