What's Wrong with the Fuse Box?

I've decided that the doe and her fawns
have come to watch me make coffee every morning;
they are watching me.
And having a snack while doing so.

An aside: There's a cricket in the garage
and his echo is driving me insane.

I'm hearing voices in the wood
behind our house.
Relax, the voices are really there.
We have a secret path to a playground--
in fact, if I had twins who were going in, say,
second grade, the top public school
in the city would be in our back yard.

This entire experience is all so strange to me;
I keep waiting for it to collapse.
And watching others continue to struggle is, well,
no picnic.