some days there is a feeling,
a vague notion
that something is off,
slightly wrong, the way your shoe
feels when you slip
into it before work.
the sock not right,
a small stone.
the shirt with its loose
button. was the door
locked before you drove
away? and the stove,
is the burner now an
orange red about to set
the house on fire.
there are the bills you
stamped and set on the table
ready for the mail.
they sit there all day.
it's a day of uncrossed
t's, undotted i's.
of saying things you almost
mean, but don't.
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