After the Concert
by: Billy Collins
It's so quiet now--
standing in the kitchen,
I can hear myself think.
I think way too much. My thoughts are constant and loud. When I get up in the morning, I spend the first half hour or so planning and prioritizing. By the time I step out my front door, I know what I'm having for lunch and dinner, how I'm going to spend the majority of my day, and who will play a part in that majority. At night, when I try to go to sleep, my mind doesn't shut down easily, and I frequently see 1 or 2 a.m.
It's Father's Day, and, believe it or not, I was able to quell the chatter in my head today. Played the pipe organ for a church service in the morning, and then took a nap in the afternoon. My sisters had a Father's Day barbecue at their house (bratwurst--my favorite). My kids came, and we had a grand time. After dropping off my daughter and her significant other at their apartment, I stopped by the cemetery to visit my dad. Now, once I'm done typing this blog post, I'm going to watch one of my favorite Spielberg films, Close Encounters of the Third Kind (the original, not the stupid special edition where you see inside the mother ship).
In short, it was a pretty damn good day. No surprises or emergencies. Cloudy and rainy, so I didn't feel guilty staying inside on my couch, watching movies, sleeping, reading, and writing.
It's getting late now. Everybody's winding down, settling in for the night. My wife just went to bed. My son is upstairs playing online video games and cursing like Eddie Murphy in Raw. I'm trying to relax, but my thoughts have decided to throw a house party in my head, with three kegs and a bad garage band.
Saint Marty may have to call the cops if the party gets too out of control.
Father's Day Rain
by: Martin Achatz
God's in the bathroom
trying to fix the leaky toilet
before it floods everything again
while Mrs. God whips up
some forbidden fruit salad
for dinner because he's trying
to lose weight.
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