Puttering

I’m just puttering about

moving things from one place to another,

certainly not trying to learn anything,

more likely trying to unlearn

what I already know—what a good project

that is. But the telephone rings

and whoever it is decides on another course

of action and hangs up; however, my caller ID

tells me it was Natalie Evans, with whom

I’m sure I’d have a lot to discuss

if we actually knew each other

and she hadn’t changed her mind.

Probably it was Bruno, her large

and loutish husband, demanding

she get off the phone and give him his breakfast

like in an old-fashion cartoon. People still live

in those, we forget. People called Bruno, Natalie

and Clive. That’s who she was calling, Clive,

who has promised to rescue her from brutal Bruno

and take her out of her terrible cartoon life

to someplace with a sea view and breakfast

served in bed. But alas, she got me instead of Clive,

and all I was trying to do was forget who I was

before the phone rang. So, I go to the computer,

which asks me if I know what my credit score is

and I’m happy to reply I certainly do not. Then

I go sit awhile and think about Clive and what

kind of man he is.

 

Done