As if there were a plot against my peace,
there’s always something irritating me.
My neck is stiff, my barnacles increase
(for so I term arthritic bumps). The tree
outside my door drops leaves, and tiny seeds
as hard as Lego bricks. My neighbor shirks
her share of tasks, and now the complex needs
too much for me to catch in daily works.
But that’s a load of bullshit. It’s not her
or this or those that cause my petulance.
I’m daily taut and anxious – insecure
in fact and edgy – I’m my worst offense.
Enough of this! I’m way beyond my prime,
and as for learning mellowness, it’s time.