I am cleaning out the Bucket.

It is not a bucket. It is a rectangular empty canvas cube without a top.
It stubbornly persists in being called a Bucket. I’ve no idea why.

I have strewn piles all over the floor. Mostly they are paper. One is Recycling.
The recycling bin is right there, but I leave the pile
so I can quickly put it in later and feel like I have Done Something.

The wood floor is shady and cool. This pile is going to my Room
and so is that one, and that one on the right, but I am far too lazy.

I am being very Industrious and Productive.

Various piles are for various people. I wish they would just take their Piles already
even though I haven’t told them yet Which Ones Are Theirs.

One pile is of books on which I intend to paint. They are also headed to my Room.

The Bucket is now empty. I pile in the items that live there and put the Bucket back.
They always, somehow, seem to get Overwhelmed by other objects.

The Bucket lives in my Corner of the kitchen. Some of the piles go to the Corner:
catalogues that I intend to Browse, chocolates I never finished,
unopened decks of Playing Cards for poker and Go Fish,
books and pencils and scripts to Go To School.

I am feeling very Proud of myself.

My cat has draped himself over all the piles in the Corner.
He has arranged himself so that the Sunlight covers him completely.
He is in the process of Wrecking My Piles. Also the one of Going To Sleep.

It looks rather pleasant.

The piles are still on the kitchen floor.

They can Wait.