A Complaint
A madman is painting the bathroom
after dinner, eight o'clock at night
while I try a poem.
All day he seems to do nothing
until three pm, when I claim
my day’s work done — only then
he begins.
Do you mind? he asks
spelling his brush along the wall.
I marvel at his pace, wonder
if he'll paint the night long.
He’s painting yellow
though I call it cream —
the paint chip spells HINOKI.
While the cat reads the closed door
I read Chaucer.
We're both confused by the night's tail.
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