Strawberry Malt

This morning

I put him in front of the television

For thirty minutes

So I could write this poem

It’s nearly ten and

I’m still writing it

Who knows what I was really trying to do

When I failed to hammer that can of paint shut

Last year

My only can of Strawberry Malt

I certainly would have liked to know

Two nights ago

When I was planning to touch up the living room walls and

The strawberry malt

Was more like a real strawberry malt

Then it should have been

I wonder what unhappy surprise will be waiting for me

Ten or fifteen years from now and

Whether I will be able to fix that

With Windex and

A roll of paper towel