Night tremors, starting out with a sweat.
A good start.
I start strong only to heave,
To forget the one thing I was going to say.
In the kitchen you can pour highly distilled water into a nearly empty tea mug to revive the bag.
Or you can reorganize the crisper drawer.
Or worry about the potted plant that had only been outside, freezing,
Or you can call the insurance company again.
You can talk about plans, options.
You can make a note of it.
You can get that thing straight.
You can straighten out your desk and then
You can finally call for that appointment and
When they can’t take you til next month,
You can get mad.
A million little puffs and put-offs,
Creases in the magazine you use to swat at that damn fly somehow inside and now, Just now, dead and crushed between paper and finger.
It’s another thing to rinse and dry and clean and return, now settled.
Now back again.
Where was I?
But already the tree outside is nearly naked, its last leaves dropped.
Ground-huddled, they are no match against the blow of car tires.