Home Erectus Speaks Out
I get up and stumble to the coffee pot.
The first thing I say to myself is my age,
as if the disbelief can be suspended being half awake;
the full bladder, the cold feet, the gritty cheeks-
O don’t even consider the mirror,
I might stumble in and drown.
When did this begin,
this ritual of waking to an update?
Yes, I’m still seventy-one
and still not used to my skin.
Yes, I’m still hungry to feel,
because what is life if you don’t feel?
And I feel like ripping the wallpaper off,
like jumping in the trees,
like tasting the juices of fruits.
But after ritual mathematics
my mind goes to its normal home.
I start sniffing around like a dog.
I need an ******.
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