I am stuck.
My story moves on without me.
Some times people see my face reflected
in a mirror or plate glass.
It makes little difference if I run.
I cannot catch up.
I cannot catch a plane in Albuquerque
and land in time at Chicago Midway.
I fear for myself. This deviation
from fate’s script and crafted lines.
Will I now face the Spanish Inquisition?
Will I now walk an empty park void of birds?
I imagine this could be called freedom—
this being stuck for a time.
It gives me a chance to appreciate
all that it is to be human.
To enjoy my cup of Earl Grey
while reading Shakespeare’s sonnets.
It could be this script
is the one before the latest rewrite.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney
