House of Procrastination

Actions always planned are never completed. – Democritus

luminous leftover light bulbs burn low, hiding
the turned-over laundry basket littering clothes
on the bedroom floor. haphazardly stacked
books and untouched family photos weigh
down the thriftstore bookshelf. the window frames
trees bending like asparagus in a cussing wind,
and an ivory-billed woodpecker, a name-brand pun,
his snapping neck playing a percussion piece,
his feathers flaunting fashion, and his beak passionate
for food, shows a motivation lacking in the human occupant.
rain-soaked garden gloves sit below,
forgotten in the grass, as their absent hands
sleep indoors, desperately in need
of a visit from the good friend ginkgo.