Poem: 64

Bad language spoken;
Babies crying
Overcooked biscuits
because mother insisted they be
left in for another two minutes.

Dolls being stolen
between Lexi & Mattie
Scarves for blankets being offered
to even the score;

Dishes left to clean later while I slipped into
a tub filled with hot water and crystals that
smelled of passion flowers but are labeled Green Tea;

Just another day; just another Sunday
to miss church for the tending to others;

No, please don’t bake a cake! or fix a dish
for I am not in the mood to celebrate.
It’s just another day, the same as the day before
for tending to others while I let myself slip away.

Today is not memorable, there is nothing remarkable,
easy, or serene about it to report to you;
Just the usual trysts and tasks that daily surround and
weave in and out of an ordinary day. My 64th birthday.
(copyright: 2009)

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