FORGETTING

 
Black cord from floor to table locks into my portable lifeline.
A lifeline I reserve for only the most difficult lulls in my mind,
like how to find my way home or how to call my other.
The phone sits naked faced and padded on its backside
calling out quietly, Search for me, search on me.
It’s the bigger naked face that wins me over
with it’s heart and soul closed inside a black creaky clamshell
When the shell is opened, words in waiting, pictures filed away,
videos paused and wanting validation.

Jumping up and down, my attention parts from coffee
to windows to musical notes and my lady friend.
With so much clutter and clatter that obstructs my thoughts,
Please, Alexa, please, be silenced.
I’d rather the rum of the morning roadway.
I’m done, its enough, stop already,
Put away your violence and bravado.

Welcome sunlight and chilly breeze,
a day off was never more forgotten.
Dressed in my work clothes,
the day is mine alone.
How quickly I forgot my freedom
slipped back into the Monday Gind,
and now my grind is in a second cup of coffee.
My grind is finding my phone and thinking,
It is my only brain to record the passing season of Spring.
Why do I sit on this day of liberation and postpone
the snapping of beauty and sound that awaits me.

So alone I am, in my new town,
removed from all who know me,
distant and difficult to all but a few.
New friend, return, engage me,
inspire me to partake in the gift you left me,
for fear of neighbors and onlookers
and wafts of air that travel to the nostrils of snitches
This day of freedom is wasting away,
and the tapping of these keys is not agreeing with my insult.
The keys tap and spaces and void are filled and yet never complete.
Don’t go, stay here, keep thinking -
Outside your mind will be stuck
in green and pink, in awe and nothing more.

When the kettles clicks the press awaits.
Up again in hopes of returning to finish my quips.
Sweet, glorious day of April’s End -
you mock me from the shaded window,
you beckon me in warm, radiant, glowing
sunlight on my bed, Return, return, return.

Press the plunger, pour the poison.
Will this cup ever be full enough?
Burn my tongue, brush my teeth
and forgive to to forget by remembering the moment,
All is was and will be, soon on my camera for all to see.

Just as my phone remains untouched,
so too do the cars wait impatiently
wondering why they have been abandoned like alley cats.
Both with glowing eyes that sleep more than they prowl.
Cars cry out, What are you waiting for?
The streets await you, the fields are growing old.
A love affair between my car and my phone,
conjoined with an umbilical cord of potentiality.
Never forget the charger, the security, the connection,
Enough plastic clamshell, farewell,
the larger dimension of me is waiting.

 04/2019