Where I’m at (a prose poem)

It all seemed to coalesce after I donated my television with its ancient VCR player to the intern house at Copper Canyon Press. My sluggish connection out here on Discovery Bay won’t stream. YouTube just hiccups and sputters, and I get up to make another cup of coffee. I no longer listen to NPR; if anything, it’s documentaries from the RTE. Sometimes CBC, as long as they keep it local. I’ve learned to think in Celsius. I have no idea what the beautiful people say. I work in a clinic, listen with kindness to stories of suffering but I draw the line at hugs. Also: sex, not. Today, I almost googled curling, but I decided I liked my image of it best: fat men on roller skates, swabbing a bowling ball with a mop across a polished ballroom floor. I’ve figured it out. I like my own versions more than theirs. Friends don’t hear much from me these days. I’m losing weight. I subsist on poetry.

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One Response to Where I’m at (a prose poem)

  1. Mark says:

    Fantastic and good for you. Great to know you’re adapting well to the big changes and decisions made. The silence sounds off the grid a bit, nice eh? And I sense moss, clover and muse in and around you. Losing weight at your age is normal.

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