All
bets are off; all plans have
changed.
Morning pours down with
a
steady and unrelenting rain.
The
annual town parade has been
canceled.
Car keys have once again
been
misplaced.
And
today of all days, the toilet
decides
this is a good time to
overflow.
Last
night’s dream remains
unresolved.
The door screeches
on
it’s hinges.
It
is the season for reruns on TV.
Moths
have feasted on the wool
sweater
in the closet.
The
boy has lost the mouthpiece to
his
tuba. And given the torrents of
rain,
there will be no parade today.
What
in hell else is there to say?
Don’t
even think about going back
to
bed—There’s laundry to be done.
Chris
Hanch 2-3-18
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