household poem

morning eyes open
see clouds in layers
gray bluegray graygold
and sky white with morning
greet fungus angel
on the opposite roof
and notice more murk
arise in my mood

raise swampy legs
one after another
flog down the stairs
step by step to the
kitchen where fog-eyed
I deal with
last night’s dirty dishes
and compost to empty

how am I going to get out of this poem?

scan fridge for containers
grown older than summer
yogurt, salsa, tahina
with blue pearls of mold
chop apples with bad spots
cook slightly to soften
four high-yolked eggs
cracked into a bowl

wondering if I’m going to get out of this poem

dogs wait to be walked
eggy plates to distract them
“Get your leash! Get your leash!”
a frenzy of barking
out then we go
large handful of dog turd
dropped from grocery plastic
flushed down the toilet

possible to get out of this poem

alimentary, my dear
exit strategy – squat