I have no time for anything!

least of all
the bed  jilted, alone and weeping
the dust balls neglected in the shadows
the cat who produced a hair ball on the now hysterical bed
the tea cup yearning for a fresh bag
the broccoli yellow in despair
the friends who are silent like old tattered comic strips I can’t find
the mother on the other side of the telephone under the cat
the holiday lost in the tears in the bed
the cinnamon bun freezing in the fridge
the toilet open, exposed and freaking
the clothes pornographic in filth
the broken cups injured in daily war
the black hole in the kitchen cupboards
the poems tickling my tummy,
and pinching my behind (ouch)!

Is this it?
The bottom of the rock.
Is there anything under?

I can make time for the cinnamon bun
comfort the bed
Thank you Jesus and the pillows
“tears are not enough” cries the bed
“we will get through this” I reply
“we will all get through this” I retort
There is a moment of silence from everything I do not have time for
I snuggle with the bed
the cat purrs
the cinnamon bun and I become one
the hairball doesn’t mind waiting
the dust balls reveal a pen
everything I do not have time for is calm
for the moment I pick up the pen…

( I entered this poem in a poetry contest. Entering a poetry contest is a great way to imagine someone else reading your poem.  Then asked some good friends for their suggestions.  It is hard to subtract, I realize that I have attachments to what I write, also hard to be objective near the end of the poem.  I think a good editor is a true gift)


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