it’s a new year

it’s a new year.
a wet rain fly hangs
over your shower rod.

look over three stacks of unread books.
out your window, rain falls
through steam ascending from
the open mouth of your complex’s hot tub.

ripples jump around the puddle
on the caving pool cover
like the dots on listen to wikipedia
after another gazan hospital bombing.

water drips
from a rudolph nose on your neighbor’s altima,
from the lip of a pot of dead bell peppers,
along the rust marks on the community barbecue.

above the trees,
the sky is a blank sheet of paper
staring back at you.