Peg is better, and
Mary’s gone to work, and I’m
up on the third floor
frittering the day
away on necessary
tasks. The dogs next door
are barking—when out,
their necessary task is
to protect their own
against anything
that might do harm to their own.
It’s a hard job in
the city where signs of threats, like
seemingly necessary
tasks, proliferate
like itches when I
think of bedbugs I don’t have—
at least I don’t think—
maybe I better
call the dogs to sniff them out.
But no, the dogs aren’t
barking anymore.
Just now, signs of threats are few,
and of bebugs none.
I can do the tasks,
at least the necessary
ones, sometime later.
A scratch’ll take care
of the itch, and I can get
back to this wholly
unnecessary
task of writing. Oh, I’m so
glad Peg is better.
Roy Herndon Smith
dust 