The baby's mindless agency has become wearisome to me.
I've tired of following the path of coasters pulled onto the floor,
Of bottles on their sides and dripping, toys abandoned in
The hall.  I'm sorry that she's learned to stand and walk.  She
Is a wrecking ball, but I don't know why I'm surprised.  Her
Parents are about the same.  Their dirty socks are on a chair.
Their plates and glasses sit, half-filled, on table tops and grubby
Counters, nowhere near the kitchen sink.  The tools which they
Need for tasks are left for days where they were used.  Putting
Them where they belong is always up to me, as mindlessness,
At least, for some, persists at every age.