a hundred yards from my home
what home you haven’t got a home
I do so have a home
—John Ashbery
I can’t do Ozempic. Long story, and not
a very fun one, I might add. And I’m not
on a diet (an old-fashioned word, that one,
right?). But I’ve lost a few pounds over the
past couple of months. I have a few theories
why, and each have me imagining myself
healthy. Healthier, in fact, than I’ve been
in years. But the news! Even as I type this
to you, I’m listening to political talking heads
by way of YouTube. So I’ve turned that off.
Just now. And am going to close my eyes for
a few moments. Bear with me, please. Damn,
it’s too bright. And my new fifty something inch
television is on pause in the middle of a laundry
detergent ad (picture a hand in the middle of the
screen with all fingers forward, toward me, holding
a square swirled with three colors: green, blue and
purple. Imaginative. It’s almost a miniature abstract
piece the likes of which one might see casually strolling
through a museum of modern art. Oh, now I remember,
I was in the middle of the latest episode of Strange New
Worlds, which I suppose I’ll get back to now. With so
much focus, so much concentration, there just isn’t any
time for the imagination, it seems. Is that really so bad?
