Counting On Television

An episode of controversy,

a young woman,

lost child,

heartbreak exposed inside the elements of a

premise,

a drama that unfolds,

and the audience,

the me,

you, the neighbor, the office worker,

we all watched the same movie,

he characters we all connect with,

and we all cried,

only for the moment,

until the next commercial for

Axe deodorant

let us deaden our senses

only for a moment,

while the intro music

brought us back quickly

in our voyeuristic manner,

observing the pain of others

fictional characters

allow us to imagine

this isn’t real,

cannot happen in our world,

satisfied we watch the news

the parallels of which

we never really decide to connect

the denial that creates a divisive

separation from reality

to the quiet illusion of a

television episode.

 

Next series please,

still wanting to escape

my own quiet dismal episode.

Every Night

the satchel lays under the bed,

packed for size,

just the essentials that later define a life,

right now,

well, just a bag with some assorted goods.

Put me on a freight heading west and it suddenly,

like the click-clack of the tracks,

becomes everything we own in the world,

leaving the rest behind.

~

I think if I could live my life that way,

I might be less afraid of what I know today,

more intrigued by that which lies ahead,

those moments,

the brush of a shoulder,

a stranger’s smile on a sunny morning,

whenever any thoughts before that smile,

became surrounded by worry,

concern, defeatist theory, the everyday

glass half-empty man.

~

I occasionally look at the bag underneath my bed,

and see it sort of smiling knowing I will never lead.