The funny fridge made too much ice.
Overflowed all inside.
I dumped the cubes into the sink, filled it up.
Hosed the hot water and watched them melt.
A studied simple pleasure.
A novice at laundry, instructed by Wife.
You do this and this, don’t forget the lint.
Slide out the screen, wet the fingertips.
So smoothly and cleanly does it bunch into your hand.
Looking like grey candy floss.
Soon, I’ll have enough for a sweater.
Pleasing memory. Dad got me a gyroscope.
The small kind that fits within your hand.
Wind a string around the axle, pull hard.
It will balance on a piece of thread.
Simple wonder and amazement.
Worked in a cigarette factory.
You lifted as many packs as possible, at once.
Stacked them on a cart as they came down the belt.
We had competitions.
You succeeded, or they were on the floor,
Shutting down the line.
We laughed. I loved it.
Now, I sit at home.
Combing the cats, one by one.
They see me sit, they form a line.
Hogging the time, they are in nirvana.
I am amazed at the hair coming off.
It clogs and accumulates upon the comb.
With each repetition, there is more.
Why are they not bald, like me?
They purr, and they lick.
Therapy for me.
A free and easy exchange of dopamine,
For both sides.
Soon, I will have enough for a sweater.
Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on Spillwords.com, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.