My piles of good intentions
are suspended from the floor
by a sturdy wooden desk
with almost full desk drawers.
I intend to read the novels,
I intend to sort the bills,
I intend to scan the photos
before another drawer is filled.
Despite my good intentions,
I work here every day,
spending all my hours
sending emails on their way.
There’s always room for screen time
among the piles of things to do,
but I hope that in the meantime
I might unstack a thing or two.
Free time is not the answer,
and it’s not the things I mention.
It’s what I do with busy
that holds true to my intentions.
This poem was posted for the previous week’s poetry prompt, Intentions. I use my home office for both my day job and my personal affairs so this poem was inspired by how they can sometimes stack up on each other.