In Which I Should Have Picked Another Day

What madness is this? Holidays are done
Yet at my local Post Office I find
A sight to frighten, or at least to stun
E'en the most fortitudinous: a line
That stretched from the front counter to the door
And out a bit onto the sidewalk. Each
Who came to join it gasped; we all abhor
Such tests of patience. And indeed, to reach
The hassled clerks took 40 minutes. I
Had promised unknown strangers I would get
Their packages sent off today or die
While trying, as they say, and so I let
The time flow slowly by and simply stared
At all the others' faces, bored and scared.

In Which I Muse On Expanded Sensoria

A prayerful silence often seems the norm

'Mongst strangers gathered publicly, it seems.

To each his own has never taken form

So powerfully as now; we watch our dreams

Played out before us on our jeejahs, each

According to his fondest wishes. We

Ignore each other, all but eschew speech

Though still we're talking; we don't hear but see

What's being said by others far from us,

Communing with our private worlds; our god,

Now customized, sits on our laps and thus

Absorbs us so, we smile and mutely nod

And look solipsists, but we are aware

Of more; not less. The world is is ours to share.

In Which I Tap My Foot And Dare To Dream

Sonneteer's note: Special thanks to Felicia, the rainfairy, for the magnificently apt phrase "Jedi speed dial"

The last rainfall revealed a roofing fail,

Disclosed by a new ceiling leak. I called

The roofer who, like any male,

Said he'd call right back. Oh, how time has crawled

Since then. He came just last night, checked it out,

And mapped out just what tasks he'd need to do,

Then said he'd come today, would give a shout

To say what time he'd be here, see it through.

I've spent most of today beside the phone,

To find out when my peace will be disturbed.

But Jedi speed dial's not a pow'r I own:

I cannot stare and make it ring. Perturbed?

Well, just a bit. Meanwhile I'll take a nap.

That ought to make it happen in a snap!

What I Wonder As I Wander Around Denver International Airport

Each time I come back home I have some time

To while away while waiting for the van

That is my last leg on this trail of grime

And squalor that gets me back to Cheyenne,

I wander the great teepee pile we call

The Jeppeson Terminal at DIA,

And wonder if there is among them, all

These other wand'rers, one whom I just may

Have met before or known or been flamed by.

I wonder, too, if anyone but me

Is list'ning to the kind of songs that I

Have pumping through my earbuds. There might be

A fan of Marian Call in this same bar!

Or of FZ or Bhtch tunes. How bizarre!

The Laundrette is Not a Fun Place To Be on Friday

I'm told a watched pot, never, ever boils.
I know now that watched laundry never dries.
A half hour only gets out stains and soils
Predictably. No matter how one tries,
She can't predict how long it's going to take
To turn those duds from wet and sopping rags
To dry ones. It's a thing she cannot fake
Or hasten with a round of pleads and nags.
A pressing appointment or hot date?
That's not the dryer's fault; she might have come
To get a sooner start. It's worth the wait
To have clean clothes, though, even if it's dumb
To watch one's garments tumble round and round
Is actually somewhat soothing, I have found.