To-Do List  

First thing in the morning I check you off the list,

as you are still asleep. Together the sun and I

make our rounds, we add up the streets in our district,

I subtract the one with the dog. During the meeting,

engrossed in a game of Battleships, when someone says “A 4”

the project goes belly-up. After lunch I throw in

the towel, so that all afternoon I am counting

the threads and strands. On the way home

I pop into the store for merchandise into which

I put my efforts. My legs find their way into

a nearby bar: there people I know

balance up the empty years and the full

glasses into an odd number. When I get back,

you are half asleep. Drowsily you look over

your own list and cross me off.