Beset by foul resentments, hatreds, from the moment
When I rise, I feel them deepen as I read.  A glance
At what's outside the window cannot elevate my mood:
Another day of driving rain.  My wrists are aching.
Who knows why?  You say you think a toilet's
Clogged.  The car won't start.  The trash can's been
Blown over.  Now it rolls away, and how do you attempt
To counteract all of these dreadful things?  You bring me
Fresh-made coffee and a toasted slice of sourdough,
And, dear, I'm damned if what you've brought has not
Done as you'd hoped.