It sits down by the staircase, mocking me,
The paragon of all that has gone wrong.
By now it should be gone, I shouldn't see
Its inexplicability for long,
But no, it still remains, it still endures,
The sole reminder of the day-to-day
Strangeness which no potion ever cures,
No set of exercises sends away.
I try to focus on the ordinary,
The normal and the plain, to be expected,
Those things that are relied on not to vary,
Whose eccentricity is not suspected,
Yet there it is, and I cannot explain
Its presence. It just goes against the grain.
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