Look, a mistake —
a moth, caught
between window
and screen.

Another mistake:
from the bedroom,
faintly, a whisper
that might be sobbing.

There’s another mistake, and another;
in fact there may be evidence of
many others; but sitting here, I
don’t see much of that.

Soon enough that moth’s
going to die trapped
because I will not care
to raise the window to save it.

And whoever’s in the bedroom
crying?  Screw her. If you know her,
you come correct her. Bring
me a snack while you’re at it.