Not Even 9:00am

The day unravels very quickly, sweater set upon
By cat. A man who doesn't seem too bright
Is failing to assist me with my effort to address
A problem caused by a computer form. I drift,
On hold. He's gotten lost. My daughter, as she's
Wont to do, bursts in with chaos trailing her,
And her own daughter in her arms. She drops
The girl and turns to go before I brave her torrent
Of disorder to explain to her that she's arrived
On the wrong morning. Mine's tomorrow. She
Sits down, and, after looking at her (previously
Unexamined) planner, says, “Oh, yes. You're
Right,” and leaves so quickly as she came,
Her daughter crying in her arms because she'd
Hoped to stay. The dolt's voice returns to my
Phone. He thinks that everything's resolved,
But I won't know until I'm sent a new computer
Form. I say goodbye. My daughter's gone. It's
Cold outside. I haven't eaten. What once was
A sweater now is yarn spread on the floor.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 59 times
Written on 2020-02-10 at 16:01

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