where to start
maybe where
i start
most days
dr phil says
we begin behaviors
for a reason
and they continue
for another
and i say
it’s usually
habit
some mornings
as i propel myself
down the sidewalk
i don't realize its
me moving my
own legs
*(and i wonder what would
happen if i just
stopped
fell to the concrete
let the city
claim me as its own)*
i know where
the puddles
form when it rains
on the asphalt terrain
been power walking
for four autumns
and i know
when to dodge them
i know where
the bus will hit
the potholes
and my body
tenses automatically
no thought
i know i carry
too much junk
around in my purse
but i’ve been
doing it so long
i don’t remember why
i thought i would need it
in the first place
i don’t need coffee
to wake me up
most mornings
but i drink it anyway
and if there’s a
box of wine in
the fridge i’ll
drink that to
*(i don’t know
why i’ve been
doing everything
all right but
can’t give myself
any credit for it)*
i love my commute
because i can think
and i hate it
because i never
come up with
anything new
i don't actually think
i used to be happier
in fact
i know i wasn't
but i had something
to tie myself to
espresso machine cleaner
drying my hands out
the smell of bleach
sizzle of cheese
scone dough under
my nails
buckets of carnations
armfuls of wine bottles
the hum of the
air conditioner
anchoring myself
to things
sounds and smells
objects and people
i wasn't happy then
but the nostalgia smoulders
and what
now?
the same
bus ride
every
day
three blue and
white screens
screaming phone
stacks of files
i like my job
and i'm happy with it
but there's always the
constant need to
optimize
make it better
the three year
itch is real
and the three year
itch is all i've
every known
the urge to
run
against all reason
i don't know
where i'd go
i just know
it's september again
and i'm
tired of it
Sep 9, 2022
Sep 9, 2022 at 12:36 AM UTC
where to start
maybe where
i start
most days
dr phil says
we begin behaviors
for a reason
and they continue
for another
and i say
it’s usually
habit
some mornings
as i propel myself
down the sidewalk
i don't realize its
me moving my
own legs
*(and i wonder what would
happen if i just
stopped
fell to the concrete
let the city
claim me as its own)*
i know where
the puddles
form when it rains
on the asphalt terrain
been power walking
for four autumns
and i know
when to dodge them
i know where
the bus will hit
the potholes
and my body
tenses automatically
no thought
i know i carry
too much junk
around in my purse
but i’ve been
doing it so long
i don’t remember why
i thought i would need it
in the first place
i don’t need coffee
to wake me up
most mornings
but i drink it anyway
and if there’s a
box of wine in
the fridge i’ll
drink that to
*(i don’t know
why i’ve been
doing everything
all right but
can’t give myself
any credit for it)*
i love my commute
because i can think
and i hate it
because i never
come up with
anything new
i don't actually think
i used to be happier
in fact
i know i wasn't
but i had something
to tie myself to
espresso machine cleaner
drying my hands out
the smell of bleach
sizzle of cheese
scone dough under
my nails
buckets of carnations
armfuls of wine bottles
the hum of the
air conditioner
anchoring myself
to things
sounds and smells
objects and people
i wasn't happy then
but the nostalgia smoulders
and what
now?
the same
bus ride
every
day
three blue and
white screens
screaming phone
stacks of files
i like my job
and i'm happy with it
but there's always the
constant need to
optimize
make it better
the three year
itch is real
and the three year
itch is all i've
every known
the urge to
run
against all reason
i don't know
where i'd go
i just know
it's september again
and i'm
tired of it
copyright 9/8/22 by b. e. mccomb