these days

In the days of poop, the feces of old, young, cat, and dog,
I am flooded, mudded.

Overflow of sound-
the dog going psycho in the backyard,
cats scratching at the door,
a groan, snoring coming from Dad's room.

I hear my daughter
whining, crying, burping and laughing,
asking for candy, orange juice, carrots.

I hear the local news,
mouths blaring rape, sodomy, torture
murder.

Music from the kid's channel blares
from the flat screen.

These days, it's 2am quiet
all day loud.

These days, I lift my father from the floor.
These days, I throw away too many diapers,
clean up too much poop, blood and piss.

These days, I cook for four.
These days, an un-rushed shower is bliss.

These days, we are always behind on housework.

These days, I read mostly children's books, and find comfort
in my father still being able to read to my daughter.

These days, I don't even try to look ahead or above the flood.
I just float in it.