My glasses.
Oops. Maybe the rain blurred me enough to forget?

The book I’ve been reading, Nine Gates.
That was on purpose, love.
Rainy day + deep read? Pass.
Cozy read? Yes, please.

Any expectation that the café porch
will be habitable before mid-morning,
if at all.

And, dammit, my computer cord. 

Things I Did Not Leave at Home

Word Raccoon.

My regret at scheduling grocery delivery
for the first time
instead of pickup.
I wasn’t thinking of rain yesterday,
and now the delivery folks will have to.

My determination to create today.
Not sure what.

My sweater. It will be needed.

My throw for when my legs get cold.

Things I Wish I Had Left at Home

Writing doubts.
Doubts in general.
Aimlessness.

The task list I can’t do anything about here.

The certainty that I need to sort my clothes again,
which means trying things on,
strategizing, forecasting,
donating.
(I am grateful to have clothes to share,
for sure. But still.)

The things I wish I had said yesterday
when someone was politically incorrect.
I tried to redirect.

I should have let Word Raccoon at them.

Guess I need to sort my courage, too.

I’m listening to what Apple Music calls
my “most loved” tracks.

Most loved, or most tortured by?

A rainy day calls for Sunshine Saturday instead, I suspect, or its ilk.

Word Raccoon is solar powered,
light-seeking.

UNRELATED, BUT IN VIEW: 

A poor young guy in a gray suit,
long black hair, glasses,
is being herded through a job interview,

coffee untouched.
He’s nervous AF,
doing fine,
but my pity spills anyway.

Here’s what we’re not doing today, WR:

Not listening to this music.
Not feeling sorry for a guy
who might well get the job,
or might hate it if he does.

Not apologizing for the window table.
We got here first.

Not averting our eyes at passing traffic

As if it is a magnet that also burns.

(WR, I don’t think that makes sense. 

She’s sticking her tongue out at me saying 

DOES SO!)
“If it doesn’t want to be seen,
it shouldn’t pass.
If we want to write about it,
we will,” she says.

(We want to. We will.)

If we want the bacon we smell here,
we’ll buy it.

We will not go gently
into this gray day.

Go ahead, give us a do-over
on last night’s conversation.
This time, we’re ready.

Word Raccoon is gnawing bacon

in front of the unlit fireplace.

She’s full of herself because 

someone stroked her pom pom earrings again 

yesterday at the concert.

Maybe I’d better rethink where I let her wear them. 

Or put an “ask first, please” 

sticker on them.

(He is our friend, but hey!)

WR loves attention but forgets 

she’s not a plush toy!

I flip over to Green Day instead.

That album with the ridiculous title. 

I’m not in the mood to even write it.

WR is chanting it. She’s such a child. 
The music is perfect for rain:
upbeat, cereal-bar music.

Just pull a knob,
out flops a serving, 

RDA of bass, 

blurred guitars, 

and bouncing drumsticks.

I’ll take it. 

Drink that poetry fuel, Word Raccoon.

Espresso yourself to the express ramp 

For writing.

Chug, chug, chug!