TECHNICAL SERVICE

At some point in each call
to a customer service representative,
or worse still technical assistance
which is a painful oxymoron
in and of itself, I pause and wonder
how the conversation might go
if I could reach through
the ether of the phone
and grab the script.
Would the voice on the other end
suddenly become attached
to a person, ripped
from its computer home?
Would that person engage
in pleasantries for a bit
before telling me that I should
go to the website where
I will inevitably learn that
there is nothing they can
or will do for me? And why
is a call to my local doctor
garbled, but my computer
voice in India is crisp, clear
if never fully intelligible?

CONVERSATION

Arising into night
the departing sun
tangoes away with its cloud,
memories soon forgotten.
Other dancers take the stage,
now a romance, now
a war dance, feathers raised
in prayer to unseen gods.
Night will soon bring
its curtain across this stage,
the avian cast’s final bows taken
the theatre will darken, awaiting
another performance,
a new script tomorrow,
but for this solitary moment
of frozen grace, it is we
who write the conversation,
our lines sung by actors who
know only nature’s
unrelenting song.

TO BE, OR NOT

As he begins to speak, she realizes
this conversation will, as usual,
devolve into a monologue.
It is always this way, and
with a finely honed skill,
she, eyes wide open,
slips out of this moment.
She is certain, correctly so,
he will never notice.
He will fill in her nods, assume
she has heard and agreed,
and this pleases him greatly.
It is always like this, the script
unvarying, it is simply
words, words, words.
She knows this and lives with it
more from Newton’s law,
her own Yorick awaiting
a Hamlet she knows is gone.

THE BEAUTY OF DREAMS

The beauty of dreams
is the plasticity of the mind
when it passes the margin into sleep.
As the new reality takes hold
places and people are allowed
to morph, the subconscious
becomes sculptor, creating
what never was from what is,
writing the script, editing it,
and all in real-time, the last act
to be completed before the conscious
reality takes back the stage
and much of what has transpired
is cast into the corner of the mind,
to be later edited
in the harsh light of day.