As Mercury goes direct (a poem)

This last round of Mercury retrograde has been particularly ugly. Fortunately, it’s over now…

Waiting for the messenger
to get back on the right track
I’m tired of my best ideas deserting me
for greener pastures
and typewriter keys skipping the platen
unless I apply extra pressure
and the ribbon thinking it’s on strike or something

Real communication is tough enough
in the best of times
there’s always a conversation
I don’t want to have
until the situation forces my hand
and I’m awkward under awkward circumstances

I never asked for the conundrum but here it is
now it’s the only thing I think about every other second

All the helpful, well-meaning suggestions people can muster
aren’t going to do a God bless America thing
now that the sun has gone down

There’ll be no more talk until daylight
if I want someone to hear me

I think the last conversation I had in the dark
was being shoved awake because I was snoring—
well, that goes both ways there, honey

Those days are gone
so now I lie awake and wonder
will I fall asleep faster with the TV on or off?

Sometimes it’s one
sometimes it’s the other

I suppose it depends on how frustrated I get
by either the sweat running down my face
or the sound of the TV
and a story I’ve heard dozens of times before

Familiarity doesn’t necessarily breed contempt
but boredom is often a real possibility

I can handle boredom
but the runaway thought train that comes along with it
makes the silence more uncomfortable than it ought to be
particularly on an empty mailbox

However it flies
tomorrow will be here directly

(18 August 2018—posted 19 August)



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