Thursday, November 1, 2018
ALL THE BOOGEYMEN AND THE GODDESSES ARE GONE
I initially engage a book of poetry
somewhere in the middle,
looking to avoid
beginnings and endings
as one always leads to the other
and if we'd just meet each other
halfway the cycle might be broken.
I don't need new and improved
like the dubious claims in that
laundry detergent commercial.
Am quietly content with
a 1997 issue of Ploughshares
that I picked up at the used book sale.
Those poems have been neglected
for some time (I can identify)
so I pay them a visit to find
lo and behold that neither they
nor their creators have aged...
only me...old and unimproved.
And then the next ad pops up
and it's the real people-- not actors--
with their testimonials, don't you know.
And as for those backhandedly maligned
thespians, I wonder if at the end of the day
do they turn back into real people again
when they go home to their families
or maybe just a room with one dim
bulb hanging down from
the ceiling and a cat.
And now back to our story.
But maybe I'll just switch it off
before the foregone conclusion.
Have done it before.
You just walk out the door.
(Avoiding the saddest part of the drama.)
Used to think maybe I would
miss something that way.
But now can see that
all I missed was the ending.