No Ice

we keep forgetting to make ice
(it’s been years now)
the cricket behind the fridge
is actually ten crickets behind the fridge
The white plaster spot,
that I fixed
where I punched
still isn’t painted
and now
actually seems
part of
the kitchen
And the hum of the computer fan
can’t even drown out its own futility
and she sleeps
unaware of all its all-ness
and all its nothingness
sleeps
and perhaps
dreams