Saturday Morning 2022

Tulips lean over the vase edge
Color faded, wilting
on the hearth
At the base lies the dog
curled into a ball
rays of sun warming him—
A slight jerk, perhaps a dream
The sound of dripping from 
the clogged gutter
outside the window
The clock on the brick wall ticks away
out of rhythm with the drain pipe’s dripping—
no rhythm at all 
this collaboration
Distressing like the rapping 
of young people’s music
makes me long for Bach
I rise
find the blue-tooth speaker
the cell phone,
amazon music 
press buttons
slide screens
centuries old
joins in
(C) Glenda Kotchish 2022