I have a cabin

Tucked deep in the woods of Florida

Scarce are the amenities here

Furnished with hand-me-downs

Nothing matches

But it all serves the purpose well

There are three windows and a door

A small stove and a sink

No bathroom, but plenty of trees

My bed is an old cot

But I rarely sleep here

Except for the occasional nap

This is just used for sunny afternoon getaways

For the much-needed time to myself

I sit at my old table

Filled with papers

Overflowing ashtrays

A few old photographs of those long gone

There is my favorite glass

And always a new bottle of rum

I arrive every time

With my trusty vintage 1940’s Smith – Corona Clipper typewriter

Complete with her hard case

And a leather handle

Broken years ago, from the weight of travel

I sit myself on an old and worn down antique chair

The same one my mother used when she was young

I take comfort in its creaks and groans

The songs emitted, every time I adjust

I tell myself that I come here to write

But I rarely do for more than an hour or so

I really venture out here, in the middle of nowhere

To just fade away

Away in the memories of days past

Of friends who are no longer here

Or the ones I need to be reconnected with

In all the years I’ve had this dilapidated cabin

I’ve never once brought anyone here

A secret place

For only me

A safe-haven

Tucked deep in the woods

Where I feel like a king

Tucked away

All alone

In all my glory

© Dicky J Loweman 2014


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