Outside the door
are pansies, two-tone purple in pots,
and matching banner

fluttering in seasonal breeze,
announcing the nation of our house,
my wifes perfect order.

Not to criticize
she always comes through in the clutch,
and disheveled me, Ive been bailed out a few times.

But sometimes, the house is like a coat rack,
a hook for everything,
a designated place.

I want to muss things up,
leave last nights quiche in the sink
just to throw off the universe a little.

Its anarchic, I know,
but something I havent the heart to do,
like turning down the thermostat when shes cold.

This natural order is something
Im comfortable with now,
like the kitchen clock thats three minutes fast.

If I tried to reset it,
everything else would tumble,
like books off a broken shelf.

04/19/2002

Posted on 04/19/2002
Copyright © 2026 Bruce W Niedt