|God and I are doing dishes
at midnight. We sip cocoa, chat,
agree that parenthood is not
for the weak-kneed,
though we quibble over what’s worst.
He’d like to pry me from my rut.
I’d like to preserve it in solid amber.
I apologize for wasted time,
for bitter words at ignorant traffic,
for serving my family frozen pizza.
I tried to create something good today,
but no one can organize ex nihilo.
He nods, accepts my gift.
Before turning out the light,
I ask a favor for my child
who is struggling like a landed fish.
He thinks, tucks away a stray strand:
I’ll see what I can do.