Dry Hands

The warm air satiates my home to a cozy, wonderous bliss

As I wake and walk through my space, I notice cold spots

My ceilings, they reach for the sky

So the warmth escapes into some more pleasant corners.

As I sit in the dark, in my living room

tick, tock. tick, tock.

My literal and proverbial clocks warn me

Soon, I must rush to wake a slumbering child.

I stall, soaking in the relaxed feeling

slumped on the couch

I feel as though I’ve been awake

for days,

Yet I just woke up.

No laces. Just velcro.

Quick, brush her hair, soothing her cries.

Teeth. Sing a song. A-B-C-D, please don’t hate me.

Shoes and socks. Now hurry, we must not balk.

Just a few, I’ll be nearly through.

“It will Rain”, I play for her on the steps.

She giggles excitedly, as I sing along.

Bus is here. Love you, be good.

Run inside and sigh from relief.

Two hours. Sleep is good.

Appointments, job hunts, some time wasted

and some not.

As the time speeds by, I glimpse at some dishes…

Nah, later, I shall do them later.

Back so soon? Time for a snack…

Here, hand me your backpack.

Ssssshhhh, dinner is ready.

Bubbles. Bubbles. Bubbles.

Please, please. Don’t cry, please….

Mommy shall see you in the morning.

Some boob-tube, maybe?

Relax. Juuuuuust relax.

tick, tock. tick, tock.

My ceiling, such an ugly white.

Pasty and paler than I.

Should I turn in for the night?

Damn. Dishes.

Gliding to a quiet kitchen…small, cluttery, simple.

I can hear the clock behind me.

tick, tock. tick, tock.

Empty the trash.

Take a shower. Nice and warm.

Don’t waste time, she might wake.

dry. dress and dry.

cleanse. moisturize.

laying there, I curse softly at the loons above.

apartment life. it is what it is.

ssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. night.

Lather, rinse, repeat.


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