Some say you are a lesser god,
dominion only over salt shakers and paper clips.
Not for you thunderbolts, a marble seat
Nor the mythy mind of Sunday Morning.
But it is to you I’m grateful
That my keys are still in my right-hand pocket this morning,
that the glue on this envelope sticks
After I lick it.
The god of my knurled brass bushings
That are so reliable - no burning bush
here, but brassy sure under my fingertips.
When “bad things happen to good people”
things are so manageable with you –
The cheese I spilled on the floor that our dogs
jumped on before I could get a paper towel –
Well I’m not the Biblical Job
sitting in my ash pit over it.
OK, fine, I swore, I denied you thrice, sure,
but it’s all OK. The dogs are happy, even if
A little gassy.
The floor is swept clean again now,
I have a fresh cup of coffee
and a bagel.
In the past few days, I’ve done both of the following:
spilled a full container of iodized salt into the dishwasher and onto the floor all around it
spilled a container of Jell-O onto two shelves and in the drawers of the refrigerator, and underneath it, splattering much on the surrounding floor as well
I try to choose laughter and appreciation for the extra exercise (squats and forward bends) at such times as these.
All this to say, I understand this poem.
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Ooooh, the Jell-O, that’s rough! LOL!