MARVYN PETRUCCI
DOING NOTHING
The day you mean to get things
done, a thought
no longer than a name makes you
pick up a box
of old letters, lift each one, until you see
the script,
the Canadian post-mark, a lake,
canoe
up on cross-beams near the house,
snow-shoes,
a figure in the window.
Open
envelopes till you hear the car,
the garage
door go up. Shelve the box,
get something
from the fridge. Be ready when
you hear,
How did it go today?
