Elder Ennui


  A spirited end of life crisis
        leaking
  unused surgeon’s hand and urine stench.
        “I’m going to catch a cab or bus or a plane.” 
  Stretching the hand, women to xeroxes, 
        across the map –
  Calculating the difference between
  three nights in the hotel and a taxi. 
              Cross a state
              any state
              to keep from sorrow.  
              Cornflowers
              have never been fair.
              Why should they start?
  The journey of a thousand miles
  begins with small pits of resentment,
        shove the walking.
  “I can’t believe you ordered the lobster
  and with my money…with my money.”
              “but you said I should”
              “boy, you’re fired.” 
  Every week his nurse is sacked.
  Caregivers die first, or sometimes make history,
        Evading the signs of wear.  
        
        
        
        
        
  Appointment  


  I introduced myself to the receptionist.
  She did not find my name in the events booklet.
  I must not have been expected.
  After that, she didn’t expect anyone.
  After Wittgenstein: the anticipation and the anticipated
  are internally (not extrinsically) connected. 
  Take that to your next fancy ass seminar
  and pay me a dollar or two to show.
  I waited in the hallway, introduced then to the buffet.
  But still nobody expected, accepted, or greeted.
  Perhaps management had changed their mind.
  Perhaps my famous letter of introduction was lost
  recriminating the abrupt market’s turbulent plane.
  Over crabcakes and waiting, I had no idea what was going on.
  I say to myself: this is an unknown startup,
  but I am also unknown.  We should be a perfect match.
  I remembered the statement on the letterhead:
  “We provide the solution to a need that is truly monumental.”
  ‘Team’ was used 17 times in that momentous offer.
  The brass company band never arrived.  I was stuffed and bored.
  There were not even any magazines to gloss.
  Finally, I realized there was no company. 
  People were exiting the building, chairs were being burned,
  executives in handcuffs shrouded their faces with profanity stripes.
  And this was my job to be.  But you know what?
  I said to myself, you came here to do a job and you will do it well.
  I bought the burning chairs and made money.
  That is my story of golf at three in times of uncertain weather.      
    
    
    
    

  Breathing Rights 


  As if predictability meant winning
  And you were waiting on the edge of a pole
  The end I suppose, but still waiting
  However imperfect my speech
  And whether I say very unique or especially unique
  You are still waiting for something prognostic
  And finding it not, you decide to jump,
  Decided to evade your breathing rights.
  I guess a proper etiology would
  Alienate your breathing rights.
  I might be with a shadow when you get back
  A slight breeze when you get back
  I might be on the floor covered in polyresin
  I might have my buttons plugged in
  I might have a knife in my nice chest
  My chest might be thrusting
              (Who knows what about my dreams?)
  My dreams might be clogged
  My blood might not be clotting
  All of these things.