Roses and Potatoes

When I am weary of my roses
and tired of my potatoes
when I leave my life beside
my one good dress
or next to my black boots
on days when I want
to be anywhere but me
to be the captain of a ship
or herding sheep
or on my way to Transylvania
those are the days I wonder
if there are egrets
sick and tired of being egrets
or if spiders ever close their eyes
and wish they were baboons
if maybe there’s a goose somewhere
that longs to be an iguana
at the end of such a day
when I open the closet door
and my boots are there pouting
and my dress sticks out its tongue
I think how silly I have been
to wonder what an egret dreams
or about the hopes of spiders
in the morning
when I consider geese
with lizard aspirations
I say how stupid of me really
but for a moment there
you thought about it
didn’t you.