I look fine on the outside, until fine meets perfect
when it rolls in, and over the knapweeds taking over
my drive at precisely 8:15 a.m., shouting good
morning from behind foggy windows.
I kiss the little one on her head and exchange
fleeting glances full of cynicism and love
with the oldest, before I nod and wave,
smiling at the unkindness
of ravens that circle the tips of my mountain
ash and torment my old cat.
Monday morning weaves its way fluidly
around my parked car and into traffic, muffling
for a moment, the violence of the murder
of old crows gathering once again, boorishly
upon the gutters left barely hanging above my door.
I pull myself back in to the familiar warmth
of my quiet, yellow kitchen, and I can’t help
but chuckle a little when I slide, and feel
the ball of my left foot meeting last…
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