the routine

she counts
the steps in.
touches the rail exactly
seven times.
turns on the same light.
puts the mail
in a perfect stack
in the same spot
where it always goes.
steps out of her clothes
and leaves them
in a pile. next to other
piles, pillars of clothes,
of books, of papers.
shoes go there.
no lights go on.
she waits until
five thirty
to put tea on.
she drinks her tea,
attaches the leash to her
dog,
and walks the circle
going counter clockwise.
she eats.
sitting in the same spot
where she always eats.
foot tapping
against the leg of
her chair.
soon it's time to sleep.
she brushes her hair,
brushes her teeth.
gargles, spits. flushes.
folds a towel
over the bar.
then crawls into bed
at exactly nine pm.
how I ever thought that there'd
be room and time
for the likes of me,
I have no idea.