Stasis

There’s art in the four deft motions I methodically use to open the padlock at our gate

My AC sings war songs

The birds and their incendiary chiming

Are nothing compared to the melody of my leaking tap

The huffs and puffs to get out of bed

The sighs to punctuate my misery

The clanging of bottles and the hiss of fire

The rustling of trees; the hum of bees

The sounds that lull me into tumultuous sleep

That almost always ends too soon

The occasional break from the mechanical whirring

Is music in itself