EVERYONE, EVENTUALLY
There's a thin white frost on the
ground today, and I watch the
animals pick at it. 'Another tired
day of the same old grass.' Maybe
they think like that? Everyone
eventually masters what they
want. The sun rolls up the east,
dragging scraps again : sunlight,
and bubbles, glinting in the water.
'Another old day of that,' I heat
it say. Everything always is what
it is. Two workmen, talking tight
together, caps and jackets, walking
past the tractor place, to move a big
old heap. They enter their rig and
one guy takes up his phone while
the diesel roils the air. 'I can't hear!
You're not clear!' Everyone eventually
achieves what they want. Here.
Or there.
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