In his fifty-fourth year of waking on time,
of taking a shower and not a bath,
of drinking his coffee with NPR,
of checking his collar, the white sleeves,
before putting the shirt on,
of hiding a stain with his tie,
of driving to work while placing a call
to his mother, neighbor, plumber, Verizon,
sometimes his father,
and then not to his father
and then not to his mother,
of parking under the nameless tree,
of trying hard not to be dragged,
entangled in it all, not
to be late, at home, at work, to bed,
for another reticent date,
ignoring with a pill his sciatica,
his sexuality, his insomnia,
the birthday of a friend with a gift card,
one day in his fifty-fourth year
he stops in a bookstore
and opens a book
and does not read,
“Whoever cannot seek
the unforeseen sees nothing.
The known way is the impasse.”

____

Note. Heraclitus: “Whoever cannot seek the unforeseen sees nothing for the known way is an impasse.”
Fragments, p. 94. University of Toronto Press.

___

Cordite, September 2024