it's getting late

i'm

still in my Saturday clothes.

the same

jeans

and old shirt,

the frayed flannel, missing

two buttons,

there's paint

splattered on my shoes.

a screwdriver swings lose

in my back

pocket,

a hammer lies nearby.

i'm looking for something

to do around

the house.

my ear is against the wall,

to the floor.

i'm listening,

for a squeak, a leak,

some

wind

coming through a window

that needs

adjustment.

i'm still in my Saturday clothes,

but it's Thursday

already.

it's getting late, time seems

to fly by.