we fall into patterns

Monday thru Friday

there are meetings and emails and commutes

I try to make it to yoga

I pour a glass of wine while cooking dinner

I forget breakfast

and my laundry from Wednesday is still in the dryer

repeat, spin, load the dishwasher

meetings and deadlines

good mornings with photocopies

she has a pattern of getting annoyed when she feels slighted

he calls me sunshine

the pattern of turning my keys in my hands

or losing them in the pockets of my bag

endless dishes and cat hair

a pile of newspapers stacked near the door

still wrapped in their delivery bags

because who has time to read the Post

when I’m always always rushing

then I sit for a while on Friday

and it takes too much energy

to imagine getting up

to unfold the paper

to learn the sky is still falling

people are still cruel

and everyone has opinions

these patterns of hurricanes blowing west

less destructive than our judgement of each other

Monday thru Friday

I’ve marched thru another week

the patterns of summer replaced

with a new semester’s gravity

and the promise of autumn