Newton's First Law

She does her dervish dance each morning,
Driving me, her stolid husband, nuts.
She's lost her keys again. She finds
Them, starts toward her car, then
Bolts to grab a book she's reading
From a room not on her way, and,
Look, a plant there should be watered.
There's a napkin on the table. Now,
Once more, her keys are gone. It
Takes me fifteen minutes to attempt
To get her off to work. Got your coffee?
Got your lunch? At last, she leaves,
And I sit down. I know exactly what
I'll do. Compulsive, I do everything
As I've done every day before.
I wonder how she keeps her job,
So madly whirling all the time.
I have no doubt that I'll keep mine
Because it's what I do.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 43 times
Written on 2016-06-07 at 13:58

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