Day 481, October 19, 2021

Cracked Muffins

My refrigerator forgets to make ice for a week at a time, 
and then, 
one day, 
it is like a miracle and there is ice again. 
The oven runs a little cool. 
Muffins do not get a cracked top, 
and potato slices only bake a nice crisp if I forget about them 
and leave them in for too long. 

Every morning I wake up and decide 
it is too dark, 
too cold, 
I am too sore to ride, 
and then some point when I’m in the shower, 
I change my mind and think 
maybe I could do it. 
Then while brushing my teeth I consider the layers I will need. 

Depending on any particular week, 
the trash does not get picked up, 
and instead sits and festers at the end of the driveway, 
lures in the curious wildlife, 
dog urine, 
a fine layer of frost. 
When the wind blows, 
you can hear the tin cans, 
glass bottles, 
and pie tins. 

Sometimes I forget fresh chicken-warm eggs 
in my pocket, 
and I take them to work with me, 
hang them in my jacket behind the office door 
for the entire day. 
Then ride home 
gingerly caressing their shapes gently knocking together 
as I pedal. 

Even a crisp fall day, is imperfect.


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