50 People - 47 Poem by Raj Dronamraju

47

As the baby knocks over its bowl of cereal
And with first a knock and then a splat, the cereal covers the floor
And the irritating monotony of her duties crash into the stress of her numerous duties
The housewife wonders which life this is

Presuming there are seven attempts to get life right, this certainly can't be the seventh
This certainly can't represent the highest level of existence
I am capable of so much more

The housewife guessed this was maybe her third or fourth life
Maybe she had been a cockroach at some point previous
She thought about her husband's dull attempts at conversation and his lack of a chin
Had she been reborn only as a bigger cockroach?

Cleaning the mess up off the floor
Feeling some love for the cooing offspring in front of her
She decided against assigning a number to her life
But at the back of her mind was a hopeful vision of another existence