The drive home tonight, 18 miles of traffic:
nearly unbearable, the tonnage of too-little-sleep
bearing heavily on my consciousness. The cars
and the cars. Thousands of them. Zip zip zip.
And now, on the deck which I'd call pastoral
if there were a pasture of any sort in sight:
a neighbor girl practices piano, elementary,
one, two keys at at time. Plunk plunk plunk.
Back to the routine of work and the handling
of fragile objects, only now there is a 12-week kitten
skittering in and out. Long-bodied, ear-fluffed.
Rather too cute. And not mine.