August 21, 2004 at 1:55 PM

Saturdays.

I pull the chord
turning the golden lamp on
orange light floods the desktop
I inspect the superglue
turning my fingertips white
hard
and think of the silky light
pressing against my temples.

I had read the instructions carefully
three times:
pour in grounds
turn handle
click the setting
get the milk ready
flip to on.
wait five minutes.

And then went into the bathroom to inspect
the tile that keeps falling out of its square
crouched beside the spot
I had a genius idea
and ran, excitedly, for the tool box.
Superglue all over and five minutes later
I could hear the espresso bubbling over
hissing at me
so I dropped the tile in spot and
wiped up the excess with my fingers
ran into the kitchen to fix that mess, too
and got stuck to the plastic
all in a panic
peeling away skin and scream.
There are warnings for these sorts of things.
Now I sit at my desk-
calming lamplight breathing me in.
All I wanted to do was practice my violin today.
one goal, one desire
packed in ice and staring at a crooked
bathroom tile
and an exploded cappacino machine.
I sigh into another Saturday,
watching the stress of the week unfold.
Wishing it was Monday,
or that I was good at Saturdays.
Waiting for Beethoven to come
rescue me.
Maybe I should go to bed again.
Wake up with my one thought in mind
and forget about atmosphere and milk.
He'd maybe like that better.
-JW