Einstein

A photographic portrait of Albert Einstein hangs above my stove.
He looks at me and sympathizes, “Why do I, not suffer, but put up so
With all little insignificant questions and woe?”
He looks at me with eyes that care not how it goes,

“Spaghetti sauce with sausage and sage?
Is life to tolerate or create our private stage?
I act in order of the day, bowing to stupidity’s ignorant cage.
Please, release this simple, complicated phase."

“Spaghetti sauce with sausage and hope.”
He looks at me, everyday, with little cope,
Been doing that for so long now, he mopes,
“Done deal. She’s crossed the line past scope.”

“She hasn’t got a clue.”