If I put my computer
at the height which is good
for typing
I am forced into an unsightly
view of the kitchen
to the ironing board
hanging on its rack
its cover stained from
the overflow,
the hanging basket
of everyday napkins
the bag of bags
which go with to market
the cat’s bowl
sometimes the outer edge
of the trash basket,
all this to say nothing
of the colander,
the hanging pans
the basket of onions
the toaster and antique
bread box, the wire basket
of dish towels, the little
shelves that hold my teas
and the one with vitamins
the picnic basket my first
mother-in-law gave me
on the shelf beside my
galvanized containers
left over from my current
on the wall,
photos I have taken,
a Hopi sifting basket
and one I have made
my husband’s lunch bag
the handle of the vacuum

who should wonder that I
have trouble concentrating
in all this,
there is so much activity
implied in a kitchen
especially this one in our
house without closets and
in our home with everything on display
here where we can’t have
secrets even if we want to.
if I put my computer at the
height which is comfortable
for working,
there is all this to contemplate.
If it sits on the high part
of the desk there is a lovelier
view of bougainvillea in bloom,
and on a bad day my neighbor
putting her clothes in to wash

I find that the laptop
demands to live up to
its name.
It is best for working
sitting on my lap.
The click of its soft keys
racing to keep up with my fingers.

In my world any excursion always seems to hold every step I have ever taken. Any shift in my workspace makes me remember all the alterations my work space has ever endured.

(stuff about yellow table)