As soon as I asked the question
I remembered where I put the fuses--duh!
Why does this always happen--
not so much that it happens, I guess,
but why at such inopportune times as this,
where she is so likely to find out?
Like the time I was enjoying the sound of
the rain beating against the window.
I was watching it sheet down the window,
admiring it's intensity.
Then she walks in, dry as a bone, and says,
"A sprinkler head has broken off in the
front yard. Can't you hear it on the windows?"



Please CLICK HERE to forward comments
on this poem to the poet