Poetry

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There are times when I see
So vividly every piece of bark
On every log of the cabin we hope to build
And it’s those times when I think
I’d be a mailwoman and exercise
My job away in fresh air

Rather than a short circuited robot
Whose start buttons have all
Been simultaneously slapped
Into gear
Connecting with too few fingers
Too many phone calls
Crisis after continuing crisis and
ONLY one ME,
With the usual amount of arms, legs and a head,
Running to the end of my endurance.

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