The moment in question
portended a flood
a county over, a cut thumb,
or some disaster
in-between. You’ve felt them;
you know their light grind,
their unwillingness to pass
to better moments, whiffs
of spaghetti sauce or when
the doctor says it’s nothing
to worry about. For days
it plagued me. It grew. It
blossomed like a pimple
on the throat, only to recede
and then return to gnaw again.
Something was amiss with me
or the world β I didn’t know
which, so I vacuumed the rug
again and again and checked
the news for badness.
I gathered the ingredients
for Quiche Conquistador β
my mother’s recipe β
gazing to and fro for it
to explode, make its definite
arrival. I lost a week waiting;
I read Histories of Empire β
the Ottoman β twice and
called my sister in Olympia.
I told her something’s coming
and she said What? This
better be good. I’m busy.
Christmas came. People
got older. My neighbor Malley
won the lottery, but nothing
happened. On the 4th of July
I said Enough’s damn enough
and started painting the garage.
If I fall from the ladder and die,
so be it. Should a freak tornado
tear the house in two, OK.
I was tired of It, so tired
I returned to my diet of
Sara Lee cheesecakes and beer.
I ate, drank, told my sister
Nothing’s gonna happen
after all, forget it. The un-
thinkable never does
and nothing ever did.
I got a cold, I lost at Solitaire,
I read the Quran
night after night all Fall
and usually fell asleep early.