The other day, I read an amazing humor piece in The New Yorker: Poetry for Modern Mindfulness.
An example:
Swiffering my floor, I offer thanks to the Procter & Gamble company / For a marvellous cleaning product, although I know that / Some people think P. & G. got the idea of electrostatic cleaning cloths from a Japanese firm, / And that the Swiffer Sweeper is based on the “razors and blades” model—that is: I must keep buying expensive new replacement cloths endlessly. / Nevertheless! / I love its silence, so unlike the infernal noise of the vacuum cleaner. / This silence has changed my life, / Allowing me to clean my house, / A chore I do not enjoy, / While talking to my friends on the phone. / A win-win for me.
My mantra this week:
As I head down the stairs
bleary eyed in the morning
I know my demented cat
will have left his business
at the very bottom.
But in what configuration?
Will there be some, almost dry,
that I won’t see
with my eyes,
allowing me to see with my feet,
my nose,
instead,
but in this moment
at the top of the stairs
the mystery remains.
