Same Thing but Different

The paperboy slammed the screen door
as he always does two jumps ahead
of my alarm clock and gets me up to
wash my face, shave and dress. Then
the mailman banged the lid of the
mailbox as he does each day, and the
garbage men tossed the lids of the
cans on the ground the way they do,
and the meter man whistled his way
down the basement steps always
off-key. And I prodded with surprise
into the belly of my thoughts
to ask how this routine could replay
itself so casually as if your absence
didn’t matter and damned if I didn’t
burn the toast and let the coffeepot
boil over explaining this rip-off
to my conscience.