on stubby nails.
What was that impulse?
a stab at youthfulness?
attempted joviality?
Instead it is silly
and I must admit
smudged
when I reached too quickly
for the package of diapers.
But polish notwithstanding,
poopies must be changed.
And though it offends,
I'm sure it will be days
-- and many chipped tips --
before I drag out cotton balls
and polish remover.
Because after all,
the baby is still crying,
the dog is still barking,
the laundry is still dirty,
the three-year-old is still begging me to
change the batteries in a (probably broken) toy,
the dishes are still waiting,
I still haven't showered . . .
And, I guess, I'm still hoping.
Hoping maybe later, as I'm folding finished
laundry I'll see the pink
and think it's pretty.
And then
for the first time today
I'll sit there among the neatly
folded piles
and smile.
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