Rumor has it there’s nothing left to do but look back
On the perfumed wreckage of one’s soiled history
And be thinking of the bleached present billowing
Like clean sheets on the taut clothesline out back
On a sun-drenched day when the angelic postman
Approaches with either a tax rebate or a notice
To appear for jury duty. Nothing could be better
Than having your turn to stand in cold judgment
In spite of the road of a past riddled with potholes.
No matter that there’s no trial in the offing. You
Are never on your own when you’re in the company
Of windows that let you see through them, but won’t
Share their feelings. What are those little people
Doing on the sidewalk, each with a planetarium
On his/her shoulders as they walk with inexplicable
Determination? Welcome to the era where velocity
Is listed as a definite “buy” on the futures market.
Welcome to the future which is now and stenciled
“Sell” in invisible ink on your forehead. It’s not
The way life manages itself. It’s the way it manages
You! Opportunity knocks on your door with a wide
Grin, then walks away, both innocent and guilty.