Focus and Chaos Are One
There’s my breakfast —
hot, ready,
one mouthful taken
standing
and left.
It’s gone cold now,
a skin forming on the porridge.
The TV’s been paused since 6:30 a.m.
It’s now 8:55
and I’ve managed
seven minutes —
I swear I’m going to watch
something,
anything that looks like focus.
Wet wipes on the stairs
because I suddenly decided
to wipe the windowsills.
One is done.
The bead gun
still hot
from 6:30 —
I forgot I turned it on.
I’ll realize eventually.
The garden —
finally cleared
of all its piles,
none of which were my job.
A load of washing done,
tumble‑dried —
not out yet,
but almost;
one task complete.
Everything happening
at once,
in the same strange
time zone.
The toilet
bleached,
half‑cleaned.
One windowsill wiped.
Many still waiting.
Who am I —
and why can’t I focus.

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