Surreal

for Totally Optional Prompts March 20, 2008
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Every Year, Just Before School Begins

I am wearing
a Red Sox cap
with the visor
pulled low
shading my eyes

in the shower.
That’s why I can’t
find the shampoo
or conditioner
or soap.

Finally, I just get out
of the tub
and wipe myself
with the rug
since my towel
has disappeared.

Then, what to wear…
I stand in front
of my closet
looking for my black
skirt
but can only find
my dead father’s
clothes.

I dress in his pants
that hang
on me like elephant
legs. I need
a belt
but can only find
a necklace.
That will have to do.

I walk downstairs
with just my bra
and those pants
on and start making
my lunch
but the bread is all
gone so I pack
the toaster in my book-
bag, instead.

At school
no one notices
I am only half dressed.
My kids are too busy
throwing things
around the room,
making out in corners,
dancing to a live band
that has set up
in front of my desk.

I holler.
I scream.
I whistle.
They ignore me.
An alarm clock
whizzes through
the air.
I catch it
and feel the round
snooze button.

I push it
and settle back
into the cranberry
sheets of my waterbed,

the August sun
outlining the shade
in neon reality.