I Wait

Ida Kotyuk

An ironing board leans and waits for laundered clothes that wait to be ironed whites wait to be folded rugs wait to be vacuumed floors wait to be swept even as countless objects heavy with dust wait to be cleared two dogs wait to be fed then wait to be walked our car waits to be washed its oil waits to be changed its gas tank waits to be filled one husband and three children wait to be fed their dinner waits to be made dishes wait to be washed wait to be dried children's lost items wait to be found books tumble from shelves wait to be read towering piles of poetry books wait to be marked nearby mounds of magazines wait too stacked loose papers wait to be filed I am smothered among small yellow sticky notes with scribbled ideas that also wait—sullenly.

Overwhelmed, I wait to be a poet.