National Poetry Month: Day Twenty Five

Moment

Halfway through
the rambling description
of yesterday's sky I realize
this is going
nowhere.

It would certainly help
if the grass were not
so damn green

or if the light did not insist
on shoving itself
through the blinds
so provocatively

if dinner did not want
so desperately
to be prepared

mushrooms leaping off the counter
and the fish leaning suggestively
toward the oven.

I find it impossible
to clear my head.