by Lara Dolphin
Talking through texts, seeing through
screens and faffing about in HD I forget
what reality feels like until an evite that says
wear all white pulls me into the world toward
a starting line among friends who tell me I’m late,
no time to pee, but they’re glad to see me.
Unrelieved, I propel myself into untimed madness
when suddenly colorful cornstarch comes flying
from all directions. My hot breath collides
with the cold air sending a rainbow of drippings
out of my nose. I wipe them happily on my white sleeve
and run, no dance, toward the finish.
That radical hour when exactly
nothing is possible, as pitiless and desultory
as an afternoon in Detroit.
Too late for lunch, too early for dinner
Too late for a nap, too early for bed
I feel I might go crazy but I’ve
got to keep my head.
I reach for the phone to call friends for drinks,
but I feel a cold coming on and climb into
bed with a cup of tea and a well-founded
boredom, waiting for mittleschmerz or enlightenment
or whatever comes next.