Stained Slipcovers

It will run hot at first,
in pulsing gushing bursts
wetting my hands and lap,
rendering me unable
to do another single thing,
the dishes, the laundry,
smooth my hair or fix my face.

As the manic pulse slightens,
becoming a trickle down effect,
the good kind of tired
will sweep me away
to lie flat on the puffy sofa,
near the window, in the sunroom,
soaking up the southeast exposure. 

(For Deborah, because staining slipcovers is never by accident, but in firm design, and it is exactly this sort of thing that keeps our head out of the oven!)