Maybe it happens
on some tawdry little part of your day —
like washing the dishes,
or sending that joke via Viber —
or maybe it slips in,
slinks its way into the moments
until you have no other choice
but to realise it is there
and it is there
That moment has arrived
and it’s not what you expected.
It’s not as cataclysmic
or as destructive as you had thought.
There are no explosions
or appropriate bomb metaphors.
Not even monsters
unless you count the monsters
hiding away in the other building
because it’s not in this room —
it’s not in this room.
That’s the thing, that’s the kicker.
It’s the absence. The darkness.
The silence. The emptiness.
You were waiting for something,
like an actual thing
you could wrap around your arms
and stroke with your hand
but, no, it’s not a thing.
And it’s the saddest feeling you’ve ever felt.
Unhooked chains, dough that does not rise,
an empty inkwell, an out of tune piano,
a crooked painting hanging so high up
you can’t fix it to get it straight.
It was nothing.
And it finally happened
and it crushed me
(in its anti-climactic-ness)
and I was saddened
because it was here, of all places,
a place where I could put my shoes up
and call it a night.