/forgiving martha/

For years,
I talked about her with shame–

The way she slothes
in those long and short,
warm and snug shadows
of hoarded remorse.

The restless screeches and squeaks
she composed to cover
the constant humming pain
of obvious laziness.

Her greedy habitual practice
of stealing time
from the admirables
for heedless rest breaks.

That grandiose, bulky suit she wears–
inflated out of
plain, flat, ordinary
duties and chores.

The pathogenic, sour exhaustion
she is established in,
sustained by the ecology
of her incompetence
and imbecility.

She is too loud,
too excessive,
too much
for someone
this
small.