Just As I Left It
What it is
is this new understanding
this silent acceptance
that when I return
the house will be
just as I left it
Dishes stubbornly refuse
to wash themselves
and the washing machine craves feeding
and dust, oh the dust
procreates, propagates
ushers in a new paradigm
a fresh religion
a cult
What it is
is this new knowledge
this scary empowerment-
that age, this messy number
means nests are now behind me
the past, and the future
impatient to take off
waits for me to push a button
It is this.
This unceasing, scathing flow of
milliseconds compounding to centuries
of thoughts leading to lives
of action jostling for space on a local train —
priorities battling inertia
And a voice that whispers
You can, you can’t
in rhythmic alternation
My voice?
The present bursts into a cloud
vanishes
a magic trick
a shadow
a brief flash of light.
