Wooden Head, what I carry

I carry steep expectations, inherited 
intolerance often screwed on tightly
weathered wooden head, full of unspoken
slights which I try and try again to discard 

replace with softer intentions, holding 
my six keys on a ring and an address book 
full of names of people 
who love me, regardless

A poem from the POETRY mobile app

THE BEAN EATERS

By Gwendolyn Brooks

They eat beans mostly, this old yellow pair.   

Dinner is a casual affair.

Plain chipware on a plain and creaking wood,   

Tin flatware.

Two who are Mostly Good.

Two who have lived their day,

But keep on putting on their clothes   

And putting things away.

And remembering ...

Remembering, with twinklings and twinges,

As they lean over the beans in their rented back room that is full of beads and receipts and dolls and cloths, tobacco crumbs, vases and fringes.

Gwendolyn Brooks, "The Bean Eaters" from Selected Poems. Copyright © 1963 by Gwendolyn Brooks. Reprinted with the permission of the Estate of Gwendolyn Brooks.

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