the new enemy

he was looking for a new enemy
for it was the man he hated before
which defined his very being &
in that respect, there was no other
who could possibly take his place---
he searched far and wide, after the last
fight had come to a close---two
young men with all the anger in the world
comparing themselves to two old men
who in giving up on everything had only
each other to hate.

with clenched fists he walked in his
black wool trench coat during the frigid
december early afternoons,
keeping his eyes peeled for a target in which
he might shed some of the pent up aggression,
however,
to no avail, his search ended as quickly as it
began & home he went,
frustrated & without the meaning that an
exchange of mutual despise could
bring (as it had so many times before).

twiddling his thumbs inside his cavern of
confusion, he wondered just what he would do
if he never did find another adversary?

inevitably, after drinking himself into a stupor,
he meandered to the bathroom to relieve
himself, taking a moment to stare into the
mirrored reflection before exiting the room.

the young man gaining wrinkles by the day
saw the old man happy still in his ability to
nitpick at such lesser priorities in life,
especially when his friends were dropping like
flies, their bodies filled with all those
wonderful cancers & diseases that come to
you once you’ve carved your little niche out in the
world.

he wasn’t envious, but he was jealous of the
meaning that came with disease---he wondered if
he had developed the problems that came with
the lives of others he’d known, if he would
treat himself as the sickness then---for, he
would disappear into the vast mass of
individuals whose lives had been cut short,
whose personalities were now time clocks
all set to a differently specified ending---
one which was already known,
and therefore, much less interesting.

on the contrary,
if he was to make the very absence of
sickness his enemy, then he felt he’d catch
himself in a damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-
don’t sort of context,
where meaning might arise in whatever
conclusion did come from that mindset---
still, tracing the wrinkles in his face with his
index, he imagined that not even he
could take such a cliché seriously enough to
act on it.