Aching, he stares at the list,
the must-do's, should-do's. He sighs.
Maybe the weather will save him.
Lately their house gets to him;
the window cracked, the porch that lists,
the siding unpainted, the eaves that sag and sigh.
The place’s warts are growing in number and size.
This is no way to treat him,
all those tasks a petty grievance list.
It’s raining, pouring, a deluge hymn of salvation.
Sighing, he crumples the list.
From Not Quite Eden (Fireweed Press, 2010)
Used with the author’s permission.
Learn more about the author of this poem here.