My sorry ass is in a chair. I watch the evening ebb away, defeated
On assorted fronts. The septic tank continues leaking. No one wants
To look at it. The hedges all remain unruly. I'll keep trying to contain
Them, but I tire quickly as I raise the trimmer to eye level: too much
Weight, not much incentive. Garbage cans go out tomorrow. I'll
Stay in, as I've no idea where I ought to roll myself. Glacier, maybe,
Come this August, Denver in a week or so, but, looming over any
Option is the gloom which suffocates me. Nothing ever seems
Worth doing, which is why I've thrust my sorry ass into this chair.