Nothing works right when you’re not here. The fridge
died, but the porch was cold enough to store
the food until the expert came. A bird
came through the furnace flue exciting cats
and me. [When I caught it, its heart beat fast.]
The power went off for three long hours. No heat.
I scrounged candles for light and all the clothes
I own for warmth. When power came back, damage
had occurred to a bathroom light, had stilled
the radio. The furnace made an odd
racket. I called three more experts. A fourth
responded to fix the dryer. I lost
a utility bill until the due
date was long past. The windshield wipers
on the car stopped dead. Car insurance
rates went up. I burned a meatloaf and spilled
a jug of milk. A mouse ate up the bread.
[A trap caught it.] Then our son moved home and
broke the coffeepot. If I had the time, I’d
expand a balloon over the city,
disclose the “unease I felt at your absence.”
Now that you have returned from your visit
to Immanuel Hospital, I’m no longer angry or unhappy.
from Dilettante’s Delight by David Nicklin, a Lone Willow Press publication, 2003.
