to my imaginary mate
The dish washer stopped working
just quit.
I meant to scrub them earlier
but a week went by
And there’s dishes in the sink
and trash piled high
and I haven’t done the laundry
and can’t see the floor.
It’s not my fault.
It's indolence
it's evidence
that I’m alive.
My dearest --
every day I’ll write to you
I’ll make you as close as underwear
as real as the hum of the heater
into a new measure of passing time.
