Prompt: Something on your “to-do list” that never gets done.

The item that sits with patient spite
Upon the list, by day and night,
Is not to climb a mountain peak,
Nor some profound, poetic streak.

It’s simpler far, yet seems to grow
A dread that only I can know.
It mocks me from its linen throne,
A simple, solitary groan:

“Change bedroom lightbulb, one (1) required.”
A duty endlessly retired.
Each morning, with the sun’s first glow,
I think, “Today! I’m going to end this woe!”

I fetch the bulb, so fresh and bright,
A beacon of potential light.
But then a voice inside me cries,
“You are not sixteen feet tall! What lies!

You’ll need the ladder, where is it kept?”
And suddenly I’m more adept
At sorting socks or cleaning grout
Than finding that dumb ladder out.

The ladder’s found! A triumph brief.
But now I note, with sheer disbelief,
A spider’s web, a masterpiece,
Strung from the fixture, never cease.

To clear the web, I need a broom.
The broom is in the other room.
I get the broom, but then, alas,
I see the dust upon the glass.

“I’ll just wipe that,” I then declare,
And spend an hour cleaning air.
The bulb sits waiting, long and clear,
Upon the dresser, filled with fear.

Then darkness falls. I flip the switch.
The room is in a shadowy pitch.
I squint and stumble, give a sigh,
“I’ll do it tomorrow,” is my cry.

So years have passed. I live in gloom,
Adjusted to my twilight room.
That bulb, rhw elephant, my old foe,
Is on the list, for all to know.

A monument to good intent,
By procrastination bent.
And so I write by candlelight,
“Change bulb… perhaps tomorrow night.”

Please note, this is fable and not true.

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