And I Write

I wash a lot of dishes and I write
make the bed and scrub the john
and write
I cook and walk the dog, look out windows
change the bulbs in reading lamps
walk around the joint a while
smoke a cigarette and think
maybe take the tram to town
But sometime in the day I write

It's what I came to Prague to do
leaving life an unmade bed behind
There's compulsion in my orderliness
born out of guilt and changing horses
that kicks my focus in the butt
It may be just a letter, poem
or e-mail to a friend
barely enough to call my work
But sometime in the day I write