Twilight arrives early (a poem)

A new typewriter poem, inspired by a typical grey Seattle day…

It’s only 10 a.m.
and the day is settling in for the night

Soon the street lights will defy their timers
to illuminate the high-noon arterials

Daylight, meanwhile, is running on captive energy
worrying all the while about how long it can hold on

The coffee’s gone cold
but the way my heart is racing it’s just as well
this heating pad will keep me warm until I fall asleep
and then I can dream up one disturbing scenario after another
that will disappear when I wake up tomorrow morning

I didn’t want to clean up that mess anyway

They say dreams are trying to tell us something
wouldn’t it be easier if they came with subtitles?

Incomprehensible is incomprehensible
but with language there’s at least something more to go by

I don’t want to have to look so hard for the easy answers
Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs is pretty self-explanatory, isn’t it?
The question ‘what do you want?’ shouldn’t be necessary
when it’s all right there on the page

That’s not the point anyway

The point is to get out of this space
where I’m stuck in this place
and I want to get to somewhere better
where none of this matters anymore

But if I can’t see the trees for the forest
and you can’t see the trees for the forest
maybe we need a ranger who has a better understanding of the park
who knows that the picnic basket is important
but it’s not the key to everything

Tying the contents in a bundle and hanging them up in the tree
isn’t a solution either—unless you want to starve the bear

Hibernation season is over

I’m still sleepy—same thing every morning:
wake up, feed the cat, drink my morning coffee
can’t keep my eyes open, and now it’s noon

So why is it so dark outside?

Seems even Friday can’t wait for the weekend to get here
the weekend may have other ideas, I suspect

Always in demand, Saturday and Sunday have so many options
they can afford to be choosy

The rest of the week has to put up with everyone
talking about the weekend all week long—
what they did last weekend, what they want to do next weekend
what they would do if they had a longer weekend

Monday and Friday must get particularly annoyed by this

It’s hard to be yourself when everyone wants you to be someone else
and they can’t change the calendar any more
than we can change our personalities

It’s easy to be who you are
but hard to not have any say in the matter

Me, every day is the weekend
so I lose track of time
I may remember the date
but damned if I don’t think it’s Thursday
when it’s still barely Wednesday

There are drawbacks to freedom

Some will say they were taught to make do with what they had
that’s still the case—
but it’s harder to do when you can’t add more fuel to the reservoir

Some choices aren’t choices at all

It’s the dark of twilight when I feel this most
especially when the distraction of the lights in the parking lot
keep me awake past my bedtime
though I’m happy to not be having the next dream
I’ll need to clean up after when I fall asleep again
after morning coffee

The true benevolent gesture would be to offer to help me with the mess
but I can see why you wouldn’t want to get involved—
some messes are impossible to deal with

I could point to several in the world right now

No, I’m not concerned with lack of politeness
sometimes you need to be the one who feels uncomfortable
and scared about what might happen next

I’ve had enough for a couple of lifetimes now
and I know there are folks who have it a lot worse than I do
and nobody’s rushing to help them

No, they have to debate and take votes first
then maybe we can talk

Assuming we don’t get swept away in the process—
because they only want to talk about the process
which is a lot like the free market:

It may work for a while on its own
but eventually somebody’s going to get squashed

And it’s never anybody’s fault—it’s ‘the market’

The winners are supposed to be magnanimous towards the losers—
it’s called sportsmanship

Unfortunately we’re stuck with a bunch of sore winners
driven by all that misunderappreciation and hatred

It’s no crime to hate the state you’re in—
isn’t that what our entire society is built on?

If we weren’t all dissatisfied, no one would make any money—
which, by the way, actually does grow on trees

You know, the ones I can’t see
because I’m stuck here outside the forest

(18 May 2018)

2 thoughts on “Twilight arrives early (a poem)

  1. I’m enjoying these Seattle days! Visiting for the next 2 weeks

  2. I brought the sunshine with me last week, but now it’s back to forest hush;)

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