But her heart won't burn.

Today salesmen come to the door. The cat bolts out past my feet, through the door held cracked open, round the corner, and under the car. I come in wet and grimed and bleeding.

Want coffee. Can't find coffee. Six drawers in the kitchen dresser. No coffee. Five cabinets, no coffee. The fridge, the freezer, no coffee. The dining room table. No coffee. The bookcases. The trash can. The office desks. No coffee.

Call James. He hasn't seen coffee. But has spilled coffee on keyboard and been mocked by computer store staff.

Still no coffee. Decide to go out for coffee. No wallet.

Call James. He hasn't seen wallet. But has been locked out of office and mocked because he is in charge of keys.

Decide to freewrite. No ink for pen. Find different pen and free write anyway. Hopeless drivel emerges.

Decide to research article on the future of Mars Missions. No internet connection.

Salesmen, lost, come back accidentally. Cat out again. Fetch cat. Toss cat down stairs.

Finish biography of Joan of Arc. She dies. They destroy her body but her heart won't burn. Ah.

4 Comments

Erin said:

And then I pushed ‘draft’ instead of ‘publish’ on my blog page.

Eric said:

Hey Erin you don’t have to open the screen door; they can see and hear you through it. You don’t want Gus out on the road! James probably told you I hit a really beautiful black cat last night. He darted out from the left across Albert Street in front of me. I jammed on the breaks but couldn’t stop before hitting him. I heard the dreaded “thump” and the car lifted a bit as the right front wheel went over him. I saw in my mirror him dragging his useless back feet up over the curb and onto a lawn. At the Buck Animal Hospital he went into convulsions and died. I really feel bad about this and every time I close my eyes I can see him crawling up over the curb. So Keep that screen door locked. It’s also safer for you!

Ancarett said:

What a messy day! Makes that bed seem so inviting. “Come back,” it entices, “let’s go for a do-over.”

Pat said:

The worst days make the best telling. That one made me laugh.

How you know it's a good poem was the previous entry in this blog.

What Ends is the next entry in this blog.

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