The man just read a poem about
routines, daily routines and he
thought about his own, things

he had just completed — the dog,
the dishes from the previous even-
ing, coffee and then the personal

stuff to make one’s self present-
able to one’s spouse let alone the
world. The poem ends on a note

of worry, pessimism and a quest-
ion about if any of it matters us-
ing a metaphor of chipping away

in futility at a large rock. The man
cups his chin with the palm of his
hand, elbow resting on the table

in a pose, he realizes, not unlike
Rodin’s The Thinker and he wonders
if Rodin was wondering about that

when he fashioned The Thinker and
if that was what Rodin had in mind
for The Thinker — wondering about

the futility of life as the man was
wondering just then as well as had
been the poet and then the man

thought of Daedalus’ Labyrinth as
a metaphor for life which was the
subject of another poem and how

hard it was to maneuver through
the labyrinth and then the man got
up to make a second cup of coffee.

He looked at the dog and said,
“You’re worth every minute of it,
girl.”