I’ve got 45 minutes to try to enjoy
What’s left of what’s been a most
Beautiful day. The temperature’s
Warm, not hot. There’s a breeze.
The smoke which was coming frrom
Canada’s gone. A bicycle ride,
Or a walk, or nap would have been
The best uses of such splendid hours.
Instead, we’ve been cleaning ahead
Of a party tomorrow, and it’s
Guaranteed to be dull, chock-a-block
With young families, dullards with
Armies of ill-behaved children,
Meaningless pleasantries, tedious
Contests, a tableau of misery,
And, before that, I’m obliged to be
Part of a call with my siblings to hash
Out what we’ll have to do with our mother,
Who’ll be 91 in a week, and keeps proving,
Despite her assertions of enduring
Competence, by means of falls
And a vanishing memory, that she
Must submit to somebody’s care.
How delightfully this mild sun warms
My skin, and this breeze leaves me as I
Wish I’d always be, as I’ll try to be for,
At this point, but ten minutes, before
Everything goes to hell.