Maybe Tomorrow

Maybe tomorrow I say as I lift the garage doors I do not want my neighbors to see this hovel But one runs over to see if it is a garage sale Before I can close it. She points to something she wants. I give it to her. Another runs over to ask to borrow my lawnmower. That frees up a space I could use to sort, out of the sun, so I tell her, "Keep it as long as you like." Some teenagers walk by and laugh, pointing. I want to stick out my tongue, but that would be childish, right? I do it any way. They laugh harder. My husband comes out. "Find any mice yet?" This really makes me want to clean this mess. I remember last summer when a bag started moving And a fountain of mice rose to the top and flowed out Running in all directions. I close the garage. Maybe tomorrow. Or maybe not.