An Oddly Lovely Day Alone
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The kids went off to school, The wife to the hairdresser, Or so she says, in Boston--- "He takes forever. Bye." I read a book, doing my job. Around eleven, the rat man came--- Our man from Pest Control, Though our rats have long since died. He wears his hair rat-style--- Cut short, brushed back---and told me His minister had written a book And "went on television with it." The proceeds, however, unlike mine, Would be devoted, every cent, To a missionary church In Yucatan. Time went by silently. For lunch, I warmed up last night's pizza, And added my plate to the dishwasher, And soap, and punched FULL CYCLE. A book, a box of raisins, And bed. The phone rang once, A woman whose grant had not come through, No fault of mine. "That's all right," I told her. "Just yesterday, I failed to win The National Book Critics' Circle Prize." The book was good. The bed was warm. Each hour seemed a rubber band The preoccupied fingers of God Were stretching at His desk. A thump, not a dishwasher thump. The afternoon paper: it said An earthquake had struck Iran Mere minutes after the Shah had left. The moral seemed clear. More time passed, darkening. All suddenly unbeknownst, The afternoon had begun to snow--- To darken, darken and snow: A fantastic effect, widespread. If people don't entertain you, Nature will.
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Credits
- Writers
- John Updike