by Pat Schneider
.
It is a kind of love, is it not?
How the cup holds the tea,
How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare,
How the floor receives the bottom of the shoes,
Or toes,
How soles of feet know
Where they’re supposed to be.
I’ve been thinking about the patience
Or ordinary things, how clothes
Wait respectfully in closets
And soap dries quietly in the dish
And towels drink the wet
From the skin of the back.
And the lovely repetition of stairs.
And what is more generous than a window?
.
.
I Shall Argue With Pat Schneider's Poem with a poem of my own.
The Consternation of Ordinary Things
by Mushroom Montoya
.
When I place the white dotted red cap
Onto my mushroom coffee cup
As I sit on my wobbly chair
That pushes my weight against the floor
Who must use the same amount of upward force
To keep us from sinking
Into the middle of the Earth.
My ordinary clothes are impatient,
Jabbering in the closet,
Hoping I will wear them
Instead of the clothes in my drawers.
My soap stays liquidy wet
In its bottle.
As my towel complains about the water
It drinks is too plain and boring
And is pathetically predictable
As the repetition of stairs.
The glass in my windows whines
Whenever I pull the shade for privacy
Because the window is just a blatant exhibitionist.
Onto my mushroom coffee cup
As I sit on my wobbly chair
That pushes my weight against the floor
Who must use the same amount of upward force
To keep us from sinking
Into the middle of the Earth.
My ordinary clothes are impatient,
Jabbering in the closet,
Hoping I will wear them
Instead of the clothes in my drawers.
My soap stays liquidy wet
In its bottle.
As my towel complains about the water
It drinks is too plain and boring
And is pathetically predictable
As the repetition of stairs.
The glass in my windows whines
Whenever I pull the shade for privacy
Because the window is just a blatant exhibitionist.
