Poem #13 of 30
Appointments serve as structural dividers that cordon off our days into neatly ordered sections
In the off season
Or in retirement I’d guess
The absence of these structured
Place holders causes days to collapse and run into one another
Like cake batter poured on a plate
That can not hold the volume
Yet we expect it to firm up
Once the heat of the day gets at it.
We find ourselves confused that it’s weekly trash day again
Didn’t that just happen two days ago?
The phone tells us which day this is because we didn’t care enough to cross them off on the wall calendar we never look at.
There’s some rebel, Kerouac shit that rises up in us when we eliminate time commitments
It’s a free range
See you Thursday