Standing in an interminable line at the post office,
I complain about the delay, my busy schedule.
With a little twinkle in her eye, an old woman
ahead of us turns around, smiles, and says,
“No one can waste your time but you, my dear.”
Trying to recall what she possibly could have done
to deserve her fate this lifetime, she realizes that she
can’t find any words in her mind at all. “Rough,”
the dog says, licking herself.
Removing all the space between things,
the speed freak rushes from point A to point B,
unable to see that even an infinite series
of points cannot create a life worth living.
The saxophonist raises his horn to heaven,
lets the stream of notes flow through him,
and out his horn. He takes a breath,
feels the pulse go by and launches into
yet another reason why the sun feels
called on to rise in the sky each morning.
The shopkeeper looks up, his head frozen at an odd angle,
hands bent inward, torso stiff, uncooperative.
But with genuine warmth, he asks, “Can I help you?”
In that moment, it is crystal clear that he just has.
Tripping on acid in the Museum of Natural History,
the young man sees that there are a group of natives
ready to launch their spears his way.
Turning 180 degrees to sneak away, he is confronted
by three huge brown bears standing on
their hind legs, teeth bared. “Shit,” he says.
Rebounding from one unfulfillment
to the next, hopes not so much shattered
as gradually dissolving into thin air, I wonder
how long the human heart can keep going
simply on the fumes of love remembered.