Perspective

Yesterday I found a fingernail in the toaster,
Today the dryer yields just seven socks.
Ah, mysteries of life:
Whence fingernails?
Where socks?
Where are the mates?
And why not six or eight?
I long to search for Holy Grails
Or even joust at windmills. . .
Instead, I rewash glasses
Left less than spot-free
By eager childish hands
And hang sheets out on windy days
And never do catch sight
Of one brave armored night.
But when a little boy thanks God at night
For “the best mommy in the world” –
Strange windmills lose their charm
And I’m content
To fetch a grail of water
Before he goes to sleep.
Quixote, wait another year!
I still am needed here.
-- Joy Jacobs