Troubles Ii Poem by Morgan Michaels

Then, the housekeeper- Ring!
Did she suspect me sitting,
at phone side, listening
to all she said, her
Portuguese-inflected words running like lemmings,
off her lip's precipice, falling to cyberspace?
'Tomorrow? Sure', I thought, 'but wasn't she just here'?

'And in two months, another birthday- ', I thought,
gaze consulting the calendar-
Luxury problems, oh ye chicks', I groaned,
does your troublous sum
ever amount to one, big, troublesome hen?
Something you can blame for everything?
A heartbreak you can take to the bank?