The Situation

I need to get out of this situation, I said;

to be more like the day-fox

practically blowing smoke rings

out there on the pavement;

to be a nice little virus, or spore

on the wind with my hair tacky,

my swollen hand resting on the edge

of a smear on a napkin; to hardly touch

things, or access an inbox or die on

contact with a purchase order or

fellow demon of the backwash. Hell.

I don’t know what Jesus had in mind

when he said let the day’s own trouble

be sufficient for the day all those years ago

with the tigers flashing their flanks

between the arches of the Colosseum

and the older gods in valid circulation,

but I suspect that when he dreamed

of his imperative getting traction on

the future, it wasn’t this one that he saw.

Look around. Safety curtains. Death.

The big fourth wall. That’s not how

the future, or trouble, work at all.