...

there’s a basketball in the bathroom today.
more toys for us to look at in the fading light of day as it streams through the skylight and down on the fake tile bathroom floor.

some days this routine is like a prayer, repeated over and over again
on the lips of a monk with the hopes of raising him up to god,
sometimes succeeding.

we wake, you first, but neither of us ever early enough, yawn in and out
of our minds, our work, our jobs, our clothes, our tub, our house.


some days this routine is like my prayer.

even our kisses upon cheeks, as if our lives goal is to add one more kiss to
the number laid upon the others cheek because one more shall bring new
meaning to the last.

but today there is a basketball in the bathroom, as if the
monotony may thankfully come to end now, since the tub is no hoop.

some days the routine is like the humming of the refridgerator-
maddening once recognized.