my housekeeper,
Milagro,
can't come this week.
there's no parking
out front because of road
construction.
she'd have to push her
vacuum all the ways
around the back,
along the snow covered
path.
i write her a note.
i tell her i'm sorry, but
this week won't work.
i don't hear back for days.
i wonder
if she's upset with me.
i pace the rooms,
looking at the unmade
bed, the trash cans,
now full.
crumbs and spills
are everywhere.
there's dust
on the shelves.
there's dishes
in the sink.
who's going to fold
the fitted sheets?
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