the mylar balloon was tied to power lines,
bobbing up and down like a buoy
playing with the tension of
a metaphor in a poem
and a potential blackout for a block of homes
my fingers grip the steering wheel
but construction merged the street
into a one lane road,
so I leave home early to
sit and wait in traffic,
staring at the balloon
there's bubbling blisters residing
on my right thumb
and the patch of skin
before my toes start to sprout
I dropped a Trader Joe's frozen pizza
while pulling it out of the oven last night,
the goopy cheese clung to my skin
and marinara splattered like
molten lava across the tile floor
all because of the three hundred twenty five foot
tubing order
the customer requested in one foot lengths
the warehouse often leaves me handicapped
yet here I am
again
staring at the mylar balloon
bobbing up and down
and if I look carefully
it seems to be growing
closer to the wire
everyday.