Speedy Squire

Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to work I go--
must drive all the way to ________ simply to turn in the
grades I was too lazy to compute on Friday.

But that's ok, b/c I should meet C & M,
who have had quite a difficult weekend--
discovering that an old lover had not only
married, but had a son and then lost
his young wife, 27, to a brain hemorage
last week . . .

Why is moving furniture such a chore?
And why must I do it every spring--
even when I swear, each year, that I won't do it "this" year??
And why must the place look completely trashed
when cleaning out one closet, ect.?

I found a new spot for the pink & gre/ay
smiling, cermatic elephant (with the
red hat and purse)the one
my darling my mum-in-law gave me for Christmas:
it's on the edge of an end table by the front door--
yes, I did it on purpose.
So did she.
Right where Zizek likes to jump up and look through the window--

And by the way
I _want_ to look like sh8t today--ever have days like that?
I occasionally do.
I want my body to visibly reflect whatever "I've been through"
(ie. grading this weekend).
So I will miss match; barely comb my hair; wear crappy old sneakers.
I want to look like my life is so full
that I just had enough time to throw myself together.
Maybe it's just an excuse.

My partner got bit by a baby alligator
last night; she was hiding under our bed,
knocked off from a piece of furniture we had moved.
Prickly teeth caught on the shoe,
marble eye watching, yet seeing nothing.