Poetry

The Same Simple

"We don't want to believe what we know." Yann Arthos-Bertrand

I want each day to be the

     Same, simple,

No surprising, No spontaneous me,

     Raweno, no, no, no more, Walt.

I can't see past the needling pain

     Anyway, no way,

Each day, some a little more numb,

     Some not, whatever.

Takes five tries to button something

     Sometimes, but always shirts,

Velcro flapped sneakers in top

     Five on my shopping list.

Don't need a plot device now, that's

     Passed, just lasting

Is enough, it seems, I mean,

     Really, at this age?

All gold-plated goals, crumbled

     To rust and dust,

All people ties and smiles to

     Reap company,

All plastic manners and fans

     And mini-steps,

End in the same mornings'

     Struggles just to move.

So how do we put a smile

     On these days?

You know, what the hopeful preach

     Profanely, insipidly, endlessly.

At least look back at all

     The lives you touched,

They say, with just the slightest

     Wink and sneer.

That's not same, simple, is it?

     (see above)

That's a road better not taken

     Still, yes, still.

But recall seeps in mostly

     To wonder too,

To wanly pose the question

     What if only...

What if only he had, (that he

     Yes, he back then)

What if he had chosen his want,

     And not his havta,

His dreaming, seaming, maybe

     And not the world?

So you see, even when you know

     You shouldn't,

You see this is what becomes

     Of thinking,

Of making same and simple

     More and "better"

Of self-absorbed conjuring over

     The loss of time.

And, of course, that's all

     It is.