What kind of day is it
Where there is only one poem
At the end?
All day long
And you worry
Because who wants to lose a day?
At some point though you are resigned
And let yourself be taken by the world-
It is the world that has granted you the poem.
So you do her work, you
Sweep and pray and feed the animals
And when she’s done with you
And you’re cozy in bed
And you’re thinking it wasn’t such a bad day after all
And wouldn’t be so bad were it this day everyday,
If that’s how things had to be,
If there was no time or space or heart for poetry
Despite how such a thought had frightened you before
Despite what an empty, barren desert the prospect is
Or how close it has taken you to doing yourself in -
Like a drunken roommate