12/365

I had a whole poem planned
about the minutia of the day.

Even wrote the first half-
a play-by-play of the morning.

Got bored of it.
Hit delete.

A series of words
woven with the minutes
of the day.

Little snapshots
of each pedantic act.
Crisp details about
the teaching,
the meetings,
the emails.

Then home for a run
through the puddles
and an aching ankle.

Help with Math homework,
some guitar,
a book;

and a whimpering decrescendo
into sleep.  

People complained
it was a hard one,
I didn’t think so.

I was grateful to have it.

The poem?
Probably
should have
thrown it
away.