Doing Something

This poem does not answer the question,
“What is the meaning of life?”
It cannot make the pandemic go away
or give me permission to go back to the gym

This poem is just a screen shot of
a moment in my life where
two young men are cleaning bathroom grout
making a lot of noise
leaving me grateful that I don't have to 
scrub the grout myself

I'd rather write this poem instead
I'd rather write instead of doing most housework
but this poem doesn't do the housework for me

So, at some point I will have to go downstairs, 
clean up the dishes I left on the counter
yet not disturb my husband napping on the couch 
because grout-cleaning is noisy upstairs

And this poem will not comfort the cats 
disturbed by the disruption, 
one a pandemic cat not used to visitors
the other moving toward death 
seeking a sunny spot near the Christmas tree

This poem will not save her from cancer, 
if that is what the growth actually is
nor give me a diagnosis of 
her condition without invasive procedures 
or call my daughter in Germany 
to tell her that her cat could be dying

This poem cannot save the cats, or me, or my husband, 
or the two young men cleaning my grout 
or even you, dear reader

This poem can only express waiting,,, 
to do something… anything…
yet, writing this poem is 
doing something as I wait, 
isn't it? 

Photo by fotografierende courtesy of Upslpash

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