Today's poem is by Helen Tzagoloff

Now
        —after Robin Becker

Now that the water bug has gone away
I can stare out of the window
and count the fire escape stairs.

Now that the people below stopped smashing
their bathtub, I can plan to fly to Hawaii,
this time with my own pillow and blanket.

Now that it has been established that rats
live in the subway walls and on the tracks,
I will resume listening to operas in the evening.

Now that the forecast is for a tornado,
I will continue singing despite pleas to stop
from people claiming I'm always off tune.

Now that I don't use contraceptives,
I can stop worry about the cat
meowing all day long next door.

Now that the oven cleans itself,
I've been thinking of pursuing my dream
of becoming a prima ballerina.

Now that the shoe repair man has reheeled
and patched up my silver shoes,
I will stop wearing padded bras.

Now that my brain has become hostage
to Richard Hugo's "semantic rhubarb,"
I've developed a yen for farina with honey

served to me in a Limoges bowl on the deck
of a Transatlantic luxury liner, sitting next to me
a handsome man who tells me I fascinate him.

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Copyright © 2023 Helen Tzagoloff All rights reserved
from Rhythms
Word Poetry
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission