What A Marathon Poet Does when She’s Not Writing Poetry

Walks in the garden

Picks the first three ripe cherry tomatoes of the season
Well, almost ripe

Pulls an armful of lemon balm
for the chickens consigned to their pen
because of a resident raccoon
she just couldn’t bear to shoot

Empties the chicken feeder, soaked
after the night’s rain

Washes, dries, and refills feeder

Realizes she skipped breakfast

Forgets breakfast when she also realizes
almost an hour has passed

Makes a list of what she’s done in the past hour

Calls the list a poem