What I liked about it was both of us were scared.
No one could say why. On screen
we watched a man pick psilocybin
but I couldn’t stop wondering
whose birthday it was. We went for a walk
then we came back inside. Each day went like that.
The weather continued doing whatever it is
the weather wants to do. I called my mother and listened.
I called my sister and her child screamed
that he didn’t want to talk anymore. Okay, okay.
I called all my friends and said, “I don’t want to talk
about me,” so they told me what was new with them.
Someone was going to Big Sur with a man,
and someone else was making French onion soup
for another someone I called. Then one day
there was a funeral for a war criminal
and I’m not making this up: people seemed to care.
After that everyone returned to fighting and forgetting.
“The programs get progressively worse
the longer you watch them,” I said, requesting
my time back after all the movies ended.
I realized, at the river, my problem
is with settling. And my other problem is fantasizing.
I sat and watched the bus empty and refill
and felt sorry for nothing in particular.
I wanted to know why we were scared
but not enough to really want. We spent the days
looking for something to be bountiful
where there was nothing resembling abundance.