Because the god of plumbing
had an argument with the god
of laundry appliances,
I met the morning with a mop
instead of hazelnut espresso.

Because of caffeine deficiency
and a wet floor, I shuffled
out the kitchen door, old clothesline
atop a basket of soggy clothes braced
on my right hip, weighty as the world,
oceans spilling down my leg
filling my shoe.

But isn’t it something to have shoes,
and the clean water is a bonus,
an entitlement taken for granted
in my kitchen where I sip coffee
and watch my boys’ bodiless
baseball uniforms run in the wind
stealing every base to home plate.