A rented, gas-powered chain saw.
iTunes.
A spring-loaded, adjustable shower curtain rod.
Mealy apples.
Billing clerks at online merchant sites.
LED headlights in the rearview mirror.
These are things that vex me,
In singular assaults or as a gang running in tandem.
They baffle and confound, rolling me over, cutting my legs
I collapse near tears
And then a final rally that ends with a primal blast of expletives
That crosses the prime meridian.
Walking up hill with a smiling lab.
The nutty, muddy black from the coffee maker.
The science section of the New York Times.
A shovel.
The new king mattress in the bedroom.
My two daughters, grown and grounded.
These are the things to which I hitch my life.
Consistent and uniform and undeniable and complete.
Like the kiss of a new love.
Uncomplicated as the real estate market
Even a pea brain can complete.