Dull as dirty snow

my mind speaks

random words,

sings old Beach Boys songs,

“Wouldn’t it be nice”

Every morning the same

expanse of white window

(eye to horizon)

God only knows

what I’d do if

the same voice didn’t ask

“Are we getting up now?”

No good vibrations in

the struggle

to put the dirty clothes

in the hamper.

The same cold air

hovers in the big room.

My mind rambles  

I wish they all could be

California girls

I was a California girl,

But not the surfer’s dream.

A little old lady lives

in grief’s shadow.

One day too many but

don’t worry, baby,

just keep your foot

off the accelerator.