In Repair

I am so tired most of the time
it's as if I have spent the day
working in the salt mines,
or running a marathon,
or single-handedly taking care of
an entire orphanage of toddlers.

What I have been doing, however,
sounds less impressive.
Today I looked at the rain falling from the eaves
in giant, turgid drops.

Meanwhile
somewhere deep inside
things are being churned around
drawers opened and slammed shut
papers shifted and shuffled
lights turned on here, off there
and all the hammering and sawing
and drilling and painting going on
in the depths of me
would be enough to employ a troupe
of immigrant laborers for a year.

My psyche,
which supplies the man power for all of this,
sends my body the check
and says pay up.
And I do.

Watching the rain fall is pretty much all I can manage sometimes.