Day 21

Challenge: write a list poem.

Today’s Complaints

The woman who cuts my hair is moving 
to Washington.

The weather app tells me that today 
will be mostly cloudy. Again.

My writing hand is gnarling up
with arthritis and I dreamed last night

I was once again reading books 
about T. S. Eliot.

This house needs a vigorous cleaning.
The dog is losing track of time.

When I scan my brain for ideas
I don’t find anything and

if given the choice between going 
to a party or 

staying home,
I will choose home most of the time.

The flowers are up in Chicago 
but here it seems they’ll never

break through, that the ground will stay
frozen forever, the world 

here smote with another ice age, and
we’re going to be stuck

waiting for warmth that never comes,
that our promised rebirth

has been rescinded, reconnection

It’s not even 5:30 AM, my windows
glazed frigid with darkness, and 

the damn dog insists I
take her out.