swivel chair spin

When I hear the garage door
open, I feel the impulse to 
jump up and begin cleaning, 
throw away all artistic pursuits, 
black out the dancing
gyration show, and look up
with a smile (or a
complaint).

~~~~~

My son sits on the swivel
chair spinning, spinning like
so many swivel chairs before
when the doctor knocks
and sticks out his/her
hand, and the room rights
itself and greets
the inevitable.

~~~~

My friend dresses with
flair, has hair that
curls, has fine teeth,
and welcomes with
her arms in reach.
All around her, art
revolves around the
gallery wall, and she
blends, represents,
portrays the outward grace
which sometimes clashes
with the awful art displayed.

~~~~~~

I have essays to grade
and so I turn to poetry
where organization and thesis
correction aren't allowed
up in the treehouse
where I've kicked the
ladder down.

~~~~~

And so the good doctor sat
with a gentle smile,
with a smile used at home
with a smile that went
to the high and low,
with a smile that drew
a picture graph,
with a smile which
wanted to help, if only
it had something it
knew how to do.