UnCleaned Windows

Edward Wallace Hoch

got it right:

THERE   IS   SO   MUCH   GOOD   IN   THE   WORST   OF   US,
AND   SO   MUCH   BAD   IN   THE   BEST   OF   US,
THAT   IT   HARDLY   BECOMES   ANY   OF   US
TO   TALK   ABOUT
THE   REST   OF   US

I have a strong belief that I’ve always been born to live in a Condo.       .       .

No shoveling snow
No cutting grass
No planting flowers
No mulching
No pruning trees
No cutting hedges
No raking leaves
No sweeping sidewalks
No watering
No outside painting
No gutter cleaning
No washing windows.        .       .

Well,  maybe  washing  some  windows,  huh?

I suppose I could hire someone to clean the Condo

and do the windows

but would it be done perfectly?

I still remember one of the chores I had around my grandmother’s house when I lived with her during college was to kind of do all of those things, especially cleaning the windows.       .       .

Window Cleaning was done twice a year.         .         .

Definitely in the Spring

and usually that last nice day of Fall

(when I wanted to be watching Football instead)

I was given my paper towels

and a special formula that made Windex jealous.         .        .

After the Ladder was set up,

I ascended towards the Heavens

to make the view crystal clear.          .          .

And I made

T       H        A        T

trip   several   times;

There were a lot of windows

and I most assuredly

had the impeccable gift of being able to

S              T              R              E              A              K

magnificently every single one of them;

Alas,

it was the gift I was cursed to possess.        .        .

So,

though the job was required for me to complete bi-annually,

it would seem that it took me the months in between

to actually Accomplish–

Such was the keen,

ever JUDGING eye

of my grandmother.       .       .

I could never quite figure out how she,

with cataracts,

and often in need of glasses,

could spot a

S              T               R               E              A              K

with her eyes closed;

I hated it then.            .         .

And owning a house now,

I detest it still–

though I rarely do the Windows

T         H         A         T

often or under the not-so=harsh judgment

of   Erin’s

Laser   Vision   Corrected   Surgery.          .          .

W         H         E         W

Funny though,

even with an ample dose of my Grandmother’s DNA,

I don’t have the window-cleaning gene

strongly inherent in me.       .       .

Funnier still,

I have a huge amount of

M       A       R       Y

in   me.       .       .

I always seem to have a not-so-poetic way of pointing out

WHAT’S      WRONG      WITH      SOMEONE      ELSE’S      WASH

without much noticing

the dirt and streaks on my own Windows.          .          .

Hmmmmmmmmmmmm of the Day:

Maybe it’s not which window

I look out of at all

so much as which

M       I       R       R       O       R

I’m actually standing.        .        .

Wait.          .          .

I think I see a Spot.           .           .

Y        o        u ?