20
the television
When I was a boy
somebody
or something
burrowed
a small hole
through the back wall
of my closet.
Through it
I could see
my parents
sitting
hour upon hour
upon the couch
watching television.
I furnished
my closet
with a lawn chair
and a footstool
and thus
began
my secret life
of watching.
Having fallen asleep
one night
in the middle
of The Twilight Zone
I awoke
to discover
that somebody
or something
had installed
a door
where the hole
had been.
It was
wide enough
for me
to crawl through -
deep enough
to swallow
my parents
whole.
I crawled
through
and took
my parent's
spot
on the couch.
Wolfgang Carstens lives in Canada with his three children and two cats. When he isn't busy freezing his nuts off shovelling snow, playing hockey or building snowmen, he finds time to write. Keep one eye open for his forthcoming collection of poems, The Thin Edge of Staring.
