In Control

How far away can we be,

How remote, how little

Involved? At some point

Distance became an issue

And involvement followed.

I haven’t opened or closed

Our garage door in years. As

If the simple twist of a wrist

And a tug were things I gave

Up on purpose. I haven’t had

To stand by the TV to adjust it,

Change the station, volume or

Brightness. I start the car, hot

Days and cold, in the living room

No need to face the temperature.

The car can do that without me.

I have become more and more

Remote, the guy pushing buttons

And telling electronics what I want

“Play my playlist, ‘Opera’ Alexa”

And she does. “Pause.” “Order

This one, order that.” I’m becoming

A voice that speaks in an empty

Room to an electronic device, an

Inert being waiting for all these to

Act for me – my more and more

Remote self.

                       The List

Let’s see, there’s broccoli and carrots

On the list, along with celery and limes

And there’s grapes and lemons There’s

Potatoes, of course, russet it says, but to

Me they’re all the same or look the same.

I’ve spent too much time and money here

In the produce section and haven’t even

Got to the wine section or the rice section

Then the bread, then V8 and oh yes stuffing

And brown sugar. The list keeps me on the

Move getting in my steps, and I still have to

Get to the canned vegetables and frozen spinach.

The list reminds me of what we eat and how we

Eat – peel, chop up, mix, strain, put on the stove

Or in, and then we wait for it to be done and served.

There’s nothing left for me to imagine about all

This hum-drum part of my day, of my life – no

Hunting, no cleaning out and dragging, or dressing

Our kill. There are no fields to plant or tend, no

Harvest to bring in. No, I am a creature of habit

A creature following a cart up and down the aisles

A creature who follows a list as if his life, or at least

His dinner depended on it.

    A Poem

Wanted a poem

Got a paragraph.

It happens –

All those years

All those comp

Classes, classes

As far as the eye

Could see

At the time

And now

They haunt me

When I write

A poem and I’m

Thinking thesis

Statements, intros

Conclusions

Summing up

What was said

Nothing metaphoric

Nothing left to

Readers to get

Or add to.

Comp classes

We have to begin

Somewhere and

There we were

And now

Here I am

Stuck in freshman

Comp pretending

To be a poet.