Caught up in thinking
And talking
And then just plain lost,
Shaky and fatigued,
The one constant
Being the renovations
That keep coming and coming,
And no end in sight;
Just when I think
It’s finally over
A new round starts up,
Doesn’t this guy ever get fed up?
I bet he does,
But we all
Have to earn
A living somehow;
Nevertheless, how frustrating that just when
The hot weather eased
And I could finally
Go outside,
He’s moved his machine
To the balcony,
So I have to choose
Between relative quiet and fresh air.
I chose the former
And got on with
Some noisy work
I had to do,
In self-defense
Against his insistent brouhaha.
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