Inward Bound Within Apartment B44

The ghost of Harriet Harris abhor real
disillusioned, disenchanted,
and disembodied (incorporeal
spirit of mine late mother) doth feel
displeasure toward this sole son seal

ling himself most every day inside
the one bedroom flat, a bargain deal
asper costs pegged to monthly
social security disability as sole
income intended to support me,

and the missus, who does not troll
the internet for employment,
and in fact exhibits no goal
to supplement marginal roll,
out sans unearned income, especially now,

(no surprise I wanna be a bachelor)
cuz finances teeter on cusp of red hole
mainly whereby two sizable
automotive costs (within a
six plus month period) sunk me soul,

and psyche on the point
of despair, where goal
to be alive undermined
nearly being penniless
and this communique not aiming to trawl
for sympathy, nor remuneration,

which latter would definitely draw scowl
upon countenance of eldest daughter completes
University study (housed with her eminent beau
within city of brotherly love), awl
so this papa disinclined to apprise her

meager finances put me the dole
drums mainly aforestated a cup pull
of hefty car repairs
spurs impetus to burrow self like a mole
whiling away hours of each twenty four hour

listening...perhaps for me the bell will toll
(at long last mitigating this
deplorable strait no life atoll
where today hard pressed
upon Highland Manor knoll,

and basically undifferentiated from yesterday),
budget restrictions limit choices, hence I stay
inside, where the brutal cold oye vey
also contributes preference
to remain comfortable at

60˙Fahrenheit until April or May
solitary (trivial) purrs hoots
occupy time, to allay
writing, reading, meditating,
exercising... staves off ennui
until...these lovely bones turn brittle,
and shock (wave) of brown hair turns gray.