when I just don't want to write.
Days that remind me
that there are chores to do-
and thoughts to think-
and places to go-
far away from the
comfort and escape
of my computer.
Today is trash day.
How can I think of blogging
when there are wet coffee grounds
and chicken bones
and curdled cottage cheese
waiting to be carried
to the curb?
There are wilted pumpkins
at my doorstep-
like melted plastic
they lean lopsided and lonely-
soggy and sad-
and no longer loved.
My garden is dead.
The posts from the
pole beans need unearthed
and stored away till
the ground is tilled
next year.
There are places to paint-
corners and cavities
on the bedroom wall
that I missed a month ago
and keep forgetting.
My bath tub has a soap ring.
Not disgusting
or black
or out of control.
Just a slight haze of dust
that begs to be erased.
My cabinets need organized.
My garlic salt is stopped up,
the brown sugar is concrete,
and the date on my baking powder
expired a year ago.
I need to wash hunting clothes
and sheets
and mop the kitchen
and scrub the toilets
and sweep the garage
and put away the
Halloween decorations
and bring my Christmas tree
from the attic.
I need to store away the swing,
clean the grill,
clear the leaves from the deck,
fill the bird feeders
and wash the car.
Is it any wonder
that I can't write today?
