The Sink Is Full

The sink is full tonight.
The fridge is calm; the dust lies gray
Along the shelves; out the French doors the light
Gleams off the slugs; the pile of bills to pay
Falls over sideways onto the sleeping cat.

I’m getting out
Of here! The television seems
To offer visions of defending teams,
So curious, inscrutable, and true,
And yet has neither maids, nor aides, nor brooms,
Nor any other friend to ease my brain;
So I am fleeing on a sparkling plane
Swept for shoes, with unarmed luggage in flight,
Which indigent airlines crash by night.