Sisyphus

Sometimes, on rainy days

I want to sit still,

resisting the lure of T.V.

and phone screen

and lean upon the windowsill

long enough, until

this spirit that bugs and pushes

behind the will,

searching for the way to be fulfilled

by making something out of nothing

(like God or a new joke)

overflows & spills

over to the beetle,

busy rolling balls of poop

up a sun-lit hill

to build a home

where it sits & dreams

of things unseen the world has shown

until the clouds blow up

and the rain comes down,

forcing our friend to reflect upon the elements

and again, try—

searching the ground,

after it’s dry—

for that special pile of nothing

waiting to be found.

By Joshua Wren