Closed Eyes

The things I’ve yet to do will come
to trouble me before this day’s at end
whether premonitions of good intent
or lax derelictions like a guilt-ridden
3:30 am jaunt to secure the chook pen

I do not know what is wrong and doubt
a craven cure short of staying in bed
until Hell freezes over – a mitochondrial
sort of euphemism for being vague
about cause and intent

Though yesterday passed judgement
and freed me of culpability failures still
hang exotic like elapsed trophies
exalting dysfunctional skills arraigned
in deserted shooting galleries

Truth is I avoid mundane decisions
until they threaten – when the
cacophony intimidates I enter
a zone of uninfringeable silence
watch proceedings with closed eyes
© 21 August 2009, I. D. Carswell