FOOL THAT I AM

my father left long enough ago that i can still feel the sting of his leaving though his presence isn't one i miss much. at this hour, i sit awake at a computer that can do more tasks before 8am than i will do all week. there's a lot on my mind but not enough for me to give extra attention to the things i cannot change.

i am thinking of movement, how i want to move at this exact moment put one foot in front of the other & make my way back to my home, but the buses have stopped running & i would be hard pressed to get a cab at this hour from this place i am. the city has stopped moving

in it's charged frenzy. i exist sometimes just a cog in the wheel, other times, at the wheel, loving it, turning it. see, i don't like spending the night out very often & seeing as though i don't sleep at home, i am hardly finding it easy to rest here. i stay up, just as active at 4am as i am at 4pm, it is

the stillness of my own home that i am imagining. the hum of my refrigerator as the automatic icemaker drops frozen slices of ice into the tray below that i hear just as if i was in my own bed. how the furnace automatically goes on & off, pushing hot air through the rooms that are silent & quiet, save for my bedroom where

i watch television until the darkness outside has become light & it is time to start today as i did yesterday. as the sun finally fills the sky & my room & my vision, i sit still long enough to remember yesterday, not knowing when the previous day ended or began, because the city only grows still

for so long while i am still in a mood to keep my eyes opened watching classic movies & old television reruns as if they were brand new. they are my constants these days, reliable only as long as the cable bill gets paid; like knowing the last northbound green line train will leave 43rd street at 1:37am; or that the liquor store underneath the train closes at 8pm. in the stillness of those endings & beginnings, i am still moving; wondering

why?

H.
12-11-2005