GETTING THINGS DONE

My neck hurts from
watching you dart
around, planning
and cleaning things.
You have to stand still
to do dishes, and
when you get to that
I come behind and pinch
at your shoulders.
You hold up a plate
and I look at you
in it. Your eyes are
lines crossing out things
in fives.
Behind your eyes, your
brains loaves sit
stiff in their seatbelts.
I want to free them,
let them hang down
and sigh. I wish
I could type HOW
into your shoulders.