Meditações - Time the enemy then, the enemy now

At a Certain Age

 

 

 

He sits beside his wife who takes the wheel. 

 

Clutching coupons, he wanders the aisles 

 

of Stop & Save.  There’s no place he must be, 

 

no clock to punch.  Sure,

 

there are bass in the lake, a balsa model 

 

in the garage, the par-three back nine. 

 

But it’s not the same. 

 

Time the enemy then, the enemy now. 

 

 

 

As he points the remote at the screen 

 

or pauses at the window, staring 

 

into the neighbor’s fence but not really seeing it, 

 

he listens to his wife in the kitchen, more amazed 

 

than ever—how women seem to know 

 

what to do.  How, with their cycles and timers, 

 

their rolling boils and three-minute eggs, 

 

they wait for something to start.  Or stop.

 

 

Deborah Cummins