Not So Lazy Sunday

If not the gnat then the horsefly

keeps the company at my side in the tall hours of the afternoon:

one born of future’s fancy;

one sprung from past’s prudence;

one buzzing, another biting; —

The swatter swoops and swings

dervish-like or simply flailing about

if the honest word should reject all lyricism

or peer through my window

to see the sorry scene of self-inflicted,

self-serving disenchantment

among the “premium” posters, the potted plants,

the freshly made bed with the quilt pulled taut,

the blinds pulled wide, the baseboards scrubbed clean,

the clothes collected up and put away

and all those things

the therapist said would do me good.

And they did,

but every win on one front

precludes a loss on another:

thus every wrinkle smoothed out

invites a dirty dish to the kitchen;

every rinsed plate conspires with

a bit of dust on the floor;

the vrooming vacuum provides cover

for hair to invade the bathroom sink;

the wiping of which distracts from

the wilting plants, who when watered

thank me with a boxful of mail

that needs sorting —