there are days

by Michael Passafiume

there are days
When I think, What I need
is a good slap in the face.

When birds rocket past my building,
squirrels trampoline from one
heavily leafed branch to another
on the maple tree out front & I am
staggered by my body’s inadequacy.

When the elderly Asian women
from the apartment complex
across the street circle the block practicing
tai chi, arms swaying from side to side
with a pendulum’s precision,
palms stiff, cutting down & through.
One woman, she likes to alternate
between walking backwards & forwards;
I look down on her from my office window & mutter:
Show-off.

When the phone rings on the hour & I know
it’s just another robocall but its relentless
whine so annoys me that I block all
incoming calls & I feel like a million bucks,
only without the million bucks,
so I guess what I feel is a spasm of joy
& a growing discontent.

When I sit at my desk in the morning
to begin work & am briefly paralyzed
by the impending monotony.
I take a sip of coffee, move my laptop
just so, tell myself, Don’t think.
& a little while later that lone insurgent
in the back of my brain whispers,
Is this what they call living?

When the day has finally been forfeited
& it was either partly sunny
or partly cloudy & the moon has not yet
decided if she’ll be making an appearance;
I will gather up all the pieces
of me I can find & still
it won’t be enough.