one day there may be hospital corners

I start to make my bed but stay my hand
and climb beneath the rumpled sheets now cold.
My mouth is dry, my eyes seem filled with sand;
The day is young but all I feel is old.

From here I see just where that quarter rolled,
I scout the spots where dust and mold still hide,
I spy abandoned socks I’ll never fold,
while propped by pillows, lying on my side.

“You’d have a cleaner house if you just tried.”
“Cheer up! There’s nothing wrong,” the others say.
I guess my happy bits of brain are fried
I’ll stay in bed since I can’t face the day.

Feel free to judge my unmade life and bed
And join the shaming chorus in my head.

15 thoughts on “one day there may be hospital corners

    1. Most days I don’t make the bed out of rebellion. “I’m a grown-up, you can’t make me!” Other days, the “why bother?” comes from a darker place.
      I hope you’ve had a better day today.

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Except for fried (which I never expected to use in a poem), I know that none of those words were in the original drafts. I’m glad I took the time to revisit and revise for stronger language.


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