Bring My Slippers

We partake in another day spread
Like a bird flock, thrusting knives
Into the sky, then filtering out,
In clusters, must participate, forcing
Willing faces with courtesies,
Conventions, bleary eyes
Of seven o’clock, pinstriped
At station, mulling over
Our own import, telling black
Blur of coffee to quell the nausea,
The first word spoken of the day,
What did you say? We formulate
Our exteriors, let them unfold
As clean sheets, ready for nine,
Crag of the mountain goat,
His demonic eye surveying the pass,
Propping ourselves up with long lists
To last us till five - to prove our worth -
Inside, at the ripe pinnacle
Of the matter,
I am swinging the hours round
Like a loaded gun, watching domino
People duck as they come
Within firing range; in the afternoon
I am crossing a gorge on a rickety woodworn
Bridge, wondering whether to push
The others off to ensure that I,
At least, make it to the other side,
I nod, yes, yes, I behave properly,
I make polite conversation,
By evening, the camel’s hump is empty,
He is crouched on gnarled knees in a desert,
Entrance of Bedouin flaps in sand wind tails,
Have you emulated? Have you reached some impasse?
Do the doors swing open and let you in?
I am in a saloon singing Dixie tunes,
I am Scarlett O’ Hara at ten o clock,
Drink in hand, I will tolerate,
I will tolerate, head cleaved in two,
What one thinks,
What one says,
What one delivers to the day is not
What was considered at
Midnight with my shotgun,
Bring my slippers,
They are by the stairs
Where I shed them last night.