I SHOULD BE WRITING A POEM

but the old dog needs his day at the groomers
and the far-off owl eyes
and the why are you leaving me here radio dish
follows me as I walk out the door.

I should be writing a poem
but we need sunbutter prunes 2 green bananas
and the woman just there sobbing and squeezing mangos
looks up and fixes her sorrow on my stopped-here demeanor
where I stand
all of that reprimand and demand
well what do you want from me?

I should be writing a poem
why is it like this
why haven’t you done something
what can you do
what IS there to be done?
your keening
our lamentation.

I should be writing a poem
as contained in this sloppy bucket of words
are worlds in a universe which is a massive bubble of meaning
wherein there is no terrible loss and sorrow
and no god damn artwork
and there is a place where
nobody needs to eat up somebody else.