The Shelf

The two-by-fours are stacked against the wall,

the masking tape line I drew in June is barely visible at all.

Your partner asked me this morning when.

I said next weekend. I've said that again and again.

The paint can sits unopened on the bench.

I can't look at the measuring tape without the stench

of procrastination, the way it fills the garage,

the way I move through it without courage.

This is the shelf I promised I would build.

This is the promise that I spilled

on the concrete floor three months ago

and never bothered to clean up, just let it go.

The drill is still in its case.

I haven't even looked it in the face.