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.