Painted Turtle

(Found here)

As it happens, a decent day—
blue sky, a fresh breeze—goes bad.
Mid-cycle, the washing machine
simply stops. Of course, there’s
a week’s laundry piled up
on the floor. But the motor’s kaputt,
my German grandfather would say.
And now, my wife’s found a leak
under the bathroom sink, a gasket
also kaputt, between the faucet
and the water line. We have the money
for a plumber and can afford
to replace the old broken washer.
But as we look at new machines on-line,
I start feeling bad for having options
as though we deserve our dripping
sink line and no-go washing machine.
Still hours till lunch, I think of those
who must use the local laundromat,
endure leaky pipes, feed their families.

I’m looking for something, anything
to take my mind in a different direction—
I’m like a child expecting some adult
to supply an alternative, some
sleight-of-hand to get me out from under
my maddening preoccupations.
And then my wife suggests I go outside,
where the day that began well is
still there. I stand alongside the pond
studying a near vertical, cliff-like rock
when a painted turtle climbs up
out of the pond. The rock is so steep,
it feels like the turtle should slide
straight back into the water,
but it’s already sunning itself
in this comically improbable position.
I watch its wet shell lightening
as if I’ve become part of that old joke
about watching paint dry, and I laugh
at myself, the sun declaring the day
half done, and not half bad.

~Robert Cording