Dog Days

Today’s a day the rain keeps going, light gray

and good to read an hour longer than I promised

who? Myself, or something. The manager in my mind

who wants me to stop any inefficiencies. I’ve gotten

better at throwing out pens run dry, and I don’t go

on second dates, and I fill my pink water bottle

again and again, float the liquid with lime. I’m tired

of hearing how hard rejection is when I’ve made it

a practice. If there’s no no, there’s no risk. If there’s

no risk, there’s no life. Okay, that’s the manger,

no philosophy on a Monday. Sit on your cushion.

Write. But remember when the self-employed

were covered that year? Remember the shape

of our lives. Imagine two bowls of food on the floor

a day, a bowl of water, yards to roam. Wouldn’t that be

enough of a good life? We could sit together and just be

out in the sun until there was no sun. The lives unequal

are also the lives that can’t conform. What did I say

about Mondays? Make work. Make good work.