Summer legs march past my living room window,
nonchalance with leashed dogs,
inattentive to beast while studying phones.
Interrupted only by my envy,
I nestle with consternation of
an extended deadline
and wishing my recorded voice
didn’t annoy the hell out of me.
The washer and the ceiling fan
and the waning morningsong
lull me into thinking
this day might be mine to kill more efficiently.
I cross self-tanner for my own limbs
off the list
and wait for the spin cycle
to motivate me to stand.
Ron stopped wearing his Hawaiian shirts
to work, but the straw hat
I can see on the backseat.
Nothing’s out of reach.
Yet.
We can still scratch our futures
like a lottery ticket one of us bought
at the grocery store
with the eggs and coffee.