Caitie is watching American President.
Sarah is pouring Nyquil into a little
plastic cup for me,
Adrian is sprawled across her bed
feet showing in the doorframe.
Miriam is on a plane
in our prayers toward the west coast,
Laura is packing up the food from dinner
at Colleen’s where we ate and sang Happy
Birthday to Eugene and Catherine,
passed around the roast duck
rice and vegetables.
Michael Douglas is wooing Annette Benning,
inviting her to meatloaf night
at the white house
while I ask around about the
big brimmed charcoal hat
I found near the door. Laura’s home,
the hat is her dad’s
he left it, and no,
Caitie and I can not wear it until
she brings it home for Thanksgiving.
Adrian won’t take her Nyquil,
even though she’s sick as a dog
too, and I can feel the room folding
around me while Laura places
the wok in the sink.