Consequence of a Storm
my plans slipped from my hands and
plopped into a muddy puddle.
being a seeker, i feel compelled
to roll up my sleeves and fish them out
but being a germophobe,
the thought of getting my hands dirty
i can imagine the grime that would be stuck
under my fingernails for months,
seeping out each time i touched my face
or put my hands together to pray.
i could see ruining my favorite clothes
with stains that won’t go away with two wash cycles
and Lord knows i don’t have money for drycleaning.
so here i am staring at a nasty pile of water
that gets murkier by the minute
and i’m stuck.
it’s raining on my head,
my socks are wet,
and my dreams sink further
than i can see.