My thanks to Amie for allowing me to include one of her poems on Balsamic Vignette.
How to end things
There's always far too much to do -
a thousand thoughts collide inside my head -
it's not just where to start, but how to end
when task-list items seethe and breed like vermin;
they scrabble through the drawers at 4 a.m.
There's always far too much to do...
...for weeks, months, years I meant to phone my mum. And now
she's dead. And plants unwatered, cats unfed.
But where to start? And how to end it?
Slip through a wormhole to another time,
another planet, far from the cries of
"There's always far too much to do"?
I've lost my place, my way, my mind -
whole days are wasted trying to decide
just where to start, and how to end
these fruitless ruminations. Five tercets
and a quatrain is pure self-indulgence; still I sigh
"There's just too much to do! Where should I start?"
So this is where I'll have to end it.