Filled To Brimming

Consider the dishwasher.
How after you fill yourself with dinner
you fill it with plates, flatware and glasses.

Outside the light takes that slant
that turns the air to honey
as if a magician snapped her fingers.

Inside the dog is frustrated with you
for not sharing your food
and lies down in a huff by the sliding doors to the backyard.

As you slide into your easy chair
and take in hand a magazine
you have been meaning to read

you consider police cams
and imagine if you had to wear one
to document all of your work activities

during office hours
with the knowledge that superiors
and independents will review

your every single keystroke
and zoomed business interaction.
Big Brother? Or checks and balances?

Your partner brings you tea.
Caffeine-free mint because it’s evening.
You plunge yourself

into an article about the armor and weapons
the Greeks and Trojans used
in the various eras covered by Homer’s Iliad.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney

In Explanation

Trust does not give a damn about me.
I misread the fine print.

Forgiveness is a joke told at my expense
and charged to my line of credit—I only have cold cash.

Understand men tick and tock.
Swing and miss.

Guilt is the boulder Sisyphus repeatedly
pushed up hill and watched roll back down.

Blame is a finger pointing every which way
before turning to my chesty north.

In explanation, I tell you
I begged for my life to become a story

worthy of the Greeks
so astute readers learn from my outrageous decisions.

copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney