It pains my soul
that I wake up before 7am on weekends.
My heart flutters
when cans of soup are buy one, get one half off.
Frustrated by an endless lust
for food processors and knife sets,
I savor
tiny shreds of parsnip, made by a cheese grater.
I break cups in out of control acts of
vacuuming.
Motivation is an 8 hour night’s sleep.
Success is an even number of socks to be folded.
I moved to an island to live on the edge
of domestication.
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