—Kevin Killian
Freshly cleaned and clothed
and standing up, I venture out.
It’s not yet dusk and I can hear
the garbage truck just outside my
new windows, and the dozen or so
bins being rolled toward and then
away from the truck. Once the gar
bage is gone, so am I, out to door,
into the not-quite-day. What am I
thinking of this morning? Besides
food, a job, turning in paperwork,
the price of the paperwork that must
be turned in, dealing with the trough
of a cold, almost out of cold medicine,
painting the banker’s lamp I nabbed
from the trash a couple of months ago,
I should do that today, I keep thinking
that most mornings and late evenings
before bed, either I should do that today
or I should have done that. The broadest
thought is probably about how mundane
my life has been recently and is presently.
I am aware of the steps I should be taking
to escape such mundanity, but I lack the mo
ivation (and finances) to do so. At least I’ve
painting the banker’s lamp I nabbed
from the trash a couple of months ago,
I should do that today, I keep thinking
that most mornings and late evenings
before bed, either I should do that today
or I should have done that. The broadest
thought is probably about how mundane
my life has been recently and is presently.
I am aware of the steps I should be taking
to escape such mundanity, but I lack the mo
ivation (and finances) to do so. At least I’ve
caught up on a few of the television shows
that give me a bit of a lift, have already been
reading this morning from a book by one
of my favorite poets. I should do laundry.
And wash the dishes. Truth be told, I haven’t
even showered. I’m still sitting in bed as
I type this. The garbage truck has come
and gone and dusk has arrived, from what
I can tell glancing up at the blinds, which
are closed. The place is quiet, my new
place often is, but not this quiet, and that
brings me a bit of peace. Not that I don’t
love the white noise of the city’s hubbub
most of the time. Maybe my cold is getting
better. I think it is. Perhaps I’ll do that
stepping out metaphorically this morning,
do a bit of cleaning, write some, read a bit
more, maybe finish another episode or two
even showered. I’m still sitting in bed as
I type this. The garbage truck has come
and gone and dusk has arrived, from what
I can tell glancing up at the blinds, which
are closed. The place is quiet, my new
place often is, but not this quiet, and that
brings me a bit of peace. Not that I don’t
love the white noise of the city’s hubbub
most of the time. Maybe my cold is getting
better. I think it is. Perhaps I’ll do that
stepping out metaphorically this morning,
do a bit of cleaning, write some, read a bit
more, maybe finish another episode or two
of one of my favorite shows, then hit the
grindstone and dig back into the real work,
now that I’m able to do so after a month or
so of nonsense. Yes. It’ll be a productive
day. And by the time it’s done, my cold
might be all but gone, and my life will feel
just a bit less mundane. And so I shall try.
grindstone and dig back into the real work,
now that I’m able to do so after a month or
so of nonsense. Yes. It’ll be a productive
day. And by the time it’s done, my cold
might be all but gone, and my life will feel
just a bit less mundane. And so I shall try.
