Tuesdays.

Dishes pile like slothful great wraiths of a time when time wasn't dear or precious or sliding like ice through fingers and cascading down the sink drain.

I feel a knot at the back of my neck.  Water that plays at, around, and in my eyes.

I am SO tired of traps.

So tired of your negligence becoming my emergency.  Tired of posing as the irresponsible one because of a mistake you made.

I sit on the porch with a cigarette and blow smoke in rings around my earlobes.

It's a nice day.

First day of spring.