Remember The Plan to Surrender (poem)

I'm ironing my clothes in the laundry room.

The cat litter is clean, the machines are humming.

My wife is emptying out a box

she hasn't touched since we moved in.

While steaming and flattening some colored Dockers

and a denim button down, she places a photo of myself

and a mentor who passed away ten years ago

on the edge of my ironing board.

I'm thinking about my doctor's visit tomorrow

and the bed is welcoming me with a soft pillow.

Yet, because of the frame, I remember

what I'm supposed to do with the rest of my life. 

(March 2022)