Draft 2: Day Off

[alonso ramoran]

Again and in between when we converge,
the moment drifts into the distance with the crows,
cawing over breakfast litter in the parking lot
as white-hot time above begins to burn
away the morning dew. I make my bed
with only the necessary folds, let an hour pass 
before drinking coffee to avoid an afternoon crash,
and scroll through social media. After an hour, 
I re-watch a show through someone else's tears
and laughter while I sip the coffee cold. Then
when it's time to clean, I vacuum, water a prayer 
into the rotting bonsai, do the laundry, 
dust the furniture but forget the fan as it spins 
for another day, another day like a forgotten poem
that the baseboard keeps, forever
unseen by the lover it exists for.

Draft 1: Day Off

Again and in between when we converge,
the moment drifts into the distance with the crows,
cawing over breakfast litter in the parking lot
as white-hot time above begins to burn
away the morning dew. I make my bed
with only the necessary folds, let an hour pass
before drinking coffee to avoid an afternoon crash,
and scroll through social media. After an hour,
I rewatch a show through someone else's tears
and laughter while I sip the coffee cold. Then
when it's time to clean, I vacuum, water a prayer
into the rotting bonsai, do the laundry,
dust the furniture but forget the fan as it spins
for another day, another day like a poem
of clichés, unseen by the lover addressed
and forgotten in the baseboard.