Forgetting To Brush

Forgetting to Brush                 

My rating as a handyman is low, very low.

That does not mean I have avoided all work.

Today I was called upon to brush away “ground-in-grime”.

My hot tub had a ring reminiscent of weekly baths

I suffered through seventy years ago.

Two trips, 30 steps up, thirty steps down,

And I was ready to start the job…

Unless you believed in brushes.

I had forgotten the brush.

It was then that I considered Sisyphus.

He spent eternity going up and down a mountain.

That would seem a likely punishment.

I could keep forgetting something only to forget

Something else, when retrieving the first forgotten.

Just maybe this was a learning experience?

On one of an infinite number of thirty step journeys

I might stumble on a great moral or architectural truth.

Of course that would not assist in my handyman task,

which I would have forgotten by the fifth round trip.

Perhaps as I awakened to that “great truth”

The shock might cause a terminal stroke.

In that final moment, holding two universal truths,

(what a terminal truth feels like, and the meaning of a life devoted

to thirty step journeys) might I not receive sainthood?