In search of story


May 2.20: Coping

In the tranquility of morning

I was focused on my toast

when the weirdest of small sounds

seemed a visit from a ghost.

No one, nothing, was about

except just only me —

what could I have heard?

Did I really want to see?

There it was, pathetic mess,

in painful black and white:

potting soil on carpet

a gruesome morning sight.

Seedlings knocked unconscious

lying there all messed;

What the heck? I queried,

at my expressive best.

How this could have happened

will ever be unknown:

did it jump off by itself

or was it somehow thrown?

It took its place among

the unsolved mysteries

I pondered as I vacuumed

on my hands and knees.



I have concluded, dear reader, that there are things that happen

just to make us nuts.