Summer End

Remains of the

broken blue coffee mug have

been swept from the kitchen floor

sink has been scoured and dried

Mail sorted and stacked

bills paid and stamped

outside the kitchen window

the yard is clear of branches

jagged piles tied with white string

you sit at the small round table

looking out at perennials

for a moment your mind

approaches a cemetery gate

sweeps the vines and enters

you think a thought that exists there:

you have made a mistake of your life

you have chosen to stay in when it rains

you have not brought an armful of phlox to a friend

and another October approaches

quickly a new noise enters the kitchen

a drip drop drop from the sink

water escaping the pipe

you rise from the table

there is something to be done