Rush Hour

Remind me, somehow remind me, of the eighteen days ‘till
when I, in spinning cyclone of summer
have, again, emptied writhing soaked towel mass
knotted in sand-slicked bathing gear
into the machine, it’s hum a heartbeat alongside mine,
one, two, five, twenty years,
racing, dragging, stumbling, scooting along.

Red. Octagon. Says. Stop.

For one day, make it a long one please,
I float towards the air conditioned shul dissolve in the front seat,
perhaps gaze into a stained glass mosaic-- make it the ten commandments,
and hear, rather listen, to myself.
Your prayers have been answered
loud and clear.

Really loud and oh so very clear

The noise, wow, the noise, days of din unto themselves:
blender, vacuum, CD shouts, and DVD giggles;
splashing into metaphors, puddles, poems,
around and out of mud pies.

They're here, there, and everywhere,
dancing into each others noses and toes.
Pick me up, put me down, here, no there;
are we there yet, when are we leaving, why are we leaving,
can we stay longer, can we leave already.
Can we? Can we? Canwee?
Wheeeeeeeeeeee!

For one day, make it a long one please,
I float towards the air conditioned shul dissolve in the front seat,
the stained glass mosaic winking at me, laughing maybe?
Your prayers have been answered
loud and clear.
Really loud and oh so very clear,
reflection of mine bursting with joy,
wondrous and thankful
me
looking up, then down-- in awe
loud and clear.