This rainy Monday, would I to nap away
the day in blanket forts with the dogs,
but the fleas I’d get up with would bite, itch, and scratch,
like peas under my mattress:
harder to restfully lie or
I’ll check my emails but not read them,
make coffee and watch it grow cold,
plan to make plans.
I’ll sigh, twitch, growl lightly at my tasks,
gather my mise en place,
and not turn on the gas.
Na/GloPoWriMo Day Eight asks us today to use occupational jargon in a poem. I’m working hard at barely getting started today.