I’m six weeks homeless though I have a bed.
A dear companion chose to shelter me
throughout my big remodel. So instead
of customed comforts, naked privacy,
and writing space, I watch her TV shows
and talk at times I used to savor mute.
I juggle keys and where my walking goes,
confuse some dates and change what I compute.

Like growing calluses for some new skill,
I’ve hurt my neck attending to her chat,
too often turned one way. I’d better fill
a different chair. My gratitude’s intact,
but shopping bags today had too much heft,
and now I wince whenever I turn left.