one thing it’s something else:
a checkbook to balance,
bills to pay, a dripping faucet 
on the bathroom sink, 
an unexpected sheet rock sag,
the absence of light from 
a burnt out bulb. You ought to 
know the drill by now,
or the hammer, pliers, electric
broom. Murphy's Law
in room after room, like the
sudden surprise of a 
sonic boom rattling the hutch 
in the dining room. 
Enough is enough. You say it
each time, a bluff that gets 
called without reason
or rhyme. Now it’s the door
bell refusing to chime.

© by Phebe Davidson.
Used here with the author’s permission.