Between Shows


The other night,
I had just finished
watching something
or other and found

myself between shows.
The words floated then
formed in my mind—my
life is between shows.

No way I want to go
back; no idea what is
ahead. I can’t count
the times I was dead

certain about what
was next, what was
coming, or about love.
Wrong every time.

Hope was a train wreck
looking back. Decades
of deserted track. But
the train never stops;

I never arrive. Don’t
you see? The train
never stops; I never
get on. My life is

suspended

between shows.

On Monday I Forgot


Lust by any other name
is still lust.

I lusted for a job today,
so I applied for four
jobs that didn’t make
any sense.

I lusted for lunch today,
frustrated because the
jobs aren’t me. I ate
two skinny sandwiches
on rye.

I lusted for the time I
wasted. It wasn’t to be.
Lunch moved on to dinner.

It is dinner in three
minutes. Ramen noodle
soup for me tonight.
NCIS rerun over in ten
minutes.

I lusted to write; I
lusted to move past now,

right now.

Lust tossed and turned
everything at me today.
Failure grinned. Fear
smiled coyly. I ran.

I wanted. Will this end?
I wanted, so wanted

to win
to walk
to work
to eat

and much much more,

to feel
to find
to be found
to be profound

but there wasn’t
a sound except for
lust unsatiated, that
place where quiet meets
loud producing no sound.

Just anguish.

My prayer was not in
vain but there was so
much pain.

Why am I blogging so
late? I went to walk
before dark. Old ankle
injury. Ribs hurt from
when I did plumbing
repairs on Friday.

Circled back to the
mail boxes then home.

(Ramen noodles still
too hot; and my tea
was getting cold.)

Instant gratification
is empty on all counts.
Lust always fails in
any form. Even if you
get what you lust for
right now it is empty
and wants more,

right now!

NCIS team under
AK-47 fire. They won,
of course. It satisfied
my TV lust, but empty
can’t fill empty.

Just this second,
I remembered that
Sunday was Easter.

On Monday I forgot
that the pain of Friday
was followed by the
promise of Sunday.

I’m blogging late to
trade empty for empty,
to fill the void. Fun, but
not adequate.

The sneers and snickers
of the day fled, for the
tomb was empty just
like He said.

On Monday I forgot,
Monday couldn’t destroy
what Sunday had done.