Critical Mass

~ Critical Mass

First there was the not sleeping well,
then Pumpkin Day for the first graders
where I was in charge of the ring toss
and from there the utility bill I couldn’t pay
online and had to go in person (Road work
blocking the entrance? Really?) before
dropping off some papers downtown with everyone
passing me on the sidewalk in their tailored suit
costumes, ties flapping in the wind,
and the young woman at the desk
who used squinty eyes and a fake half-smile
to patronize me as though we were in a mediocre movie
where no one can be trusted
to perceive subtlety and I haven’t disliked
a stranger so viscerally for years but
NO, I don’t feel like looking within to see
what form of self-unacceptance she triggered
and I must be getting hungry because
every restaurant I pass is suggesting I deserve
a little something special for myself but I’m taking
that trip next month and saw our account balance
this morning and shit! it’s not enough! so
I mentally pick through the contents of our refrigerator
while I push buttons on the radio and find nothing, nothing, nothing
that feeds my past, present or future so I finally just
turn it off.

The trees along the road
are thirsty, dusty orange and brown, blending
like Seurat painted them.
Autumn gusts nudge the car
and the car nudges back.
I carefully slide my feet out of my shoes . . .
they throb back into their natural shape.
I lean back against the seat.
My breath rises and falls
rises and falls
rises and rises and rises
and falls.