I’ve been unkind to the ants swarming
the plates I left unwashed: stamped a
a few dozen to death, left the others
scurrying, confused, and hungry
—tomorrow I’ll be more kind.
I’ve accused my peers of cowardice,
greed, even laziness: accused them
from the couch, with the dishes still
dirty, unread books slick with dust
—tomorrow I’ll be less judgmental.
With a start, I recall a dream in which
I’m perfect. No chores are left undone.
Possessed of Buddhist equanimity and
a poet’s passion, I please everyone
—tomorrow I’ll please myself.
Then, head hurting, chest tight,
I sink back down, curl up in a beam of
ignorant, blissful sun, curl up with the
triumphant ants, and repeat my mantra
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