There is no real beauty without some slight imperfection. James Salter
Spilled
Maple syrup spilled
in the back of my refrigerator.
As I scrub, beeps sound
a warning. Close the door. Now.
A fridge’s chill skill
weakens in furnace-power territory.
Maple goo has attacked a jar of pickles
This won’t take long, I hope.
I scrub, giving no anesthesia to mechanical
cries. Yet when I waited on hold
for three-calls-ahead
at the local pharmacy
on a busy Monday afternoon,
I sighed and paced, as if
the workload of my short-staffed
drugstore didn’t exist.
A bit at a time, I say to the fridge
opened for briefer moments.
A more intensive task comes next.
Removing stickiness inside me.
terrypetersen 