Walked around the block before breakfast and before I lost my nerve.
Since I work from home I stayed in the AC much of the day. Was downstairs in the coolest part of the house reading and sleeping to Lee Child's Past Tense.
Very suspenseful.
In the mail I received my first rejection from the CRDP, chronic renal something or other, saying that my doc hadn't signed a particular page.
I expected that!
Took the form over to Sally who said, RUTH, your hair is purple.
Since I was out, I went to the library to return books due today including The Farm, which I must renew. It's about surrogate mothers who bear children of billionaires (!)
Know what I'm making on this NINETY FIVE DEGREE DAY?
In my crock pot, which is set for 45 mins, when I'll check it, is SOUP.
Made with chick peas and blackeyed peas plus spaghetti sauce.
GARBAGE NIGHT
I lug two-handed
a plastic garbage can
filled with the detritus
from a whole week.
Such a feast inside attracts
six or seven drosophila at once.
Beautiful creatures, really,
iridescent - why, they could
dangle from a necklace -
But like those Playboy Bunnies
if they're still around, they
demand attention. Their lot is
not to be quiet or demure.
In the house they fly past you
over and over daring to catch them.
I thought I had.
One's schnozz was in
a cup where I'd drunk
blood-red orange juice
Quickly I grabbed a
washcloth and carried
him outside far from
home
Oh, I was friskly and
put my ear to the washcloth
and swore I could hear his
buzz of frustration
When I pulled off the cloth
there was nothing inside.
Nothing but my embarrassment
and humiliation.
*
Periodically I walk outside to dump more trash into the green recyclable bin.
How brave I feel as I step outside , all smeared with sunscreen, and feeling, well, lovable?
THE DOWNPOUR
Finally it's come.
Windows rattle.
Dogs squeal and
run under the bed.
Lightning flashes
across the whole sky.
Gentle, at first.
Here comes the thunder
Zeus at the mountaintop
Folks in the nursing home
think death has come.
They close their eyes
and wait to ascend.
Pool chairs tumble over
married couples pass
the gin and tonic
with nervous laughter
Will the lights go out?
The solar lights on the
walkway of her yard
remain firm.
As does she.
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