What a Pleasure It Is
What a pleasure it is for the sun to wake me through crooked blinds,
for the cat to leave throw-up on the carpet,
for the tiny bites on my toes!
What a pleasure it is to wait thirty seconds for the water to run warm,
to sit on the toilet seat and find it cold,
to brush my teeth with a frayed toothbrush.
What a pleasure it is to discover that my push bike has been stolen,
that the bus takes 30 minutes to arrive,
that there are no spare seats and I must stand.
What a pleasure it is to be heavy with work,
to be asked to read a document,
to re-write a program—again.
What a pleasure it is to go home and find the fridge empty,
to have to go to the shop for bread,
and that they only have white.
What a pleasure it is for the toaster to die,
for it to trip the breakers and force us to use the candles,
for us to have to wait two hours for an electrician.
What a pleasure it is to eat white bread in the dark,
for the cats to try and steal bites,
for the bread to leave us stuffed full.
What a pleasure it is,
that I do not have to fight and die and kill,
for it all.