Clutter Is My Constant Companion
Several months’ bills, paid, piled
once or twice but then knocked about,
sheets lolling from envelopes -
I’ve gotten around to cleaning these tables
time to time, again this clutter
returns - a bad penny, a cat -
this price of my inattention.
Laundry scattered or gathered,
some washed and my dryer’s my dresser.
If “the path up and down is one and the same”
as Heraclitus tells, then how can I judge?
“It just doesn’t matter,” chants
Bill Murray and a roomful of campers.
There are always piles going up, coming down.
Take this laundry and these dishes:
if they wanted anything, it would be to be used.
The dishes I sometimes wash one or two at a time
as needed, and extra spaces get held above by the cabinet.