A Call to Arms, into the Armchair with You

Walking through the house,
I crane my neck no further than a logical step,
and toward the fading edge, a mental event horizon,
I watch a procession of strangers carry my belongings,
but as in dreamy stupor I find my tongue wagging in agreement.

As the hatch in my head shuts,
I am struck by the loss and barter it all back,
and in the comfort of so many familiar possessions,
I hush the shrieking tone which would beckon change,
as a caretaker for a sick person, how embarrassing!

I reflect on the weather while on a bus

Through the window, watch the baffled feathers,
stiff as the lattice of a snowflake,
adding a film to the scene beyond,
the strong wind held by glass, pacified.

Watch as the season shifts, summer to fall,
as this city would have it,
unpredictable in its temperance,
the visitors unfurl their umbrellas
while the natives soak in the surprise.

It's like the surprise of coming home to the same meal most every night,
shocking in its regularity and its ability to cancel any other expectation,
those that regard it as bad or ugly only miss a sense of control,
hey you, let go, relax.