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Girded up after the nap, resolve shaped in the drowsy aftermath of scrolled headlines, in a cornering shade of sundials and marble. This porch rocker–100% recycled composite!–is either too cliché or the facsimile of commonplace. Matches the aesthetic of the house siding and trim. The sale at Costco. The sales at Pella and Ring. That final sale with Zillow soon enough. Time, at last. And it isn’t that ideas are absent or battlelines unclear: we have divulged a new genocide and quibble on divestment; the township now has two hazardous material sites more than the federal limit of twelve; Caitlin’s GoFundMe will treat a stray cat for cancer. I am standing now. On our street

the boys race their cars across the blacktop, skirt gulleys, dig tires into lawns of mud after the first snow
Ben down the way performs triage on a plastic Grinch after the air rifle attack
the bird bath sits dry, vacant

as years

pull away
a glam lays across the mulled wine 
Murakami’s latest bookmarked to a colorless page
a draft works upon insulated panes

That box of old sheet music from my parents needs sorting  

.                                                                               and selling and pitching, the postings to Marketplace and Poshmark, donations to the Sallies and Habitat (every third year now for tax purposes), the off-loading. The reselling. The in-laws’ storage rental. The hiring of appraisers. The burlap on that Japanese maple needs redoing. Hmm. Hmm. So does this ankle wrap. Yesterday’s mail on the table; Arbor Day still sending renewal “reminders.” Paid now to probably 2029. Should re-up the Do Not Call and DMA lists. Should make a 

list–

listing a bit . . . 
back of an envelope
a list of resolve