I should . . .

I sit on the chaise lounge
sipping a solitary mimosa,
soaking in the sun
like a clever cat.

And then a load of "I shoulds"
washes over me
like unwashed laundry.

I should deadhead the David Austin roses.
I should decapitate the Shasta daisies.
I should pour sunflower seeds into the bird feeder.

I should, but I don't.
Instead, I stroke the cat,
sip my mimosa and
fall asleep in the sun
with no regrets.

[Anyone who has seen me in the last three weeks knows that I've been in a frenzied, accomplish-everything-you-can-before-manic-Monday mode. Aren't you relieved that I slowed down today?]