not thinking alone

You're watching me standing here
at some sort of crossroads
wondering whether it is an abstract turn
or my heart in a mortar that will win the day.

So, I hand you a pestle and encourage you to tell me what I’m thinking.

You say:
You’re thinking about all the decisions
you’ve made before this one 
how they’ve grabbed the very thread of life 
and torn off at some tangent 
eventually unravelling to a point
ensuring the entire catastrophe 
continues to resemble your life.

You say:
You’re thinking about how soon enough,
the thread passes again through your grasp 
always making you wary but hopeful 
this next decision will be the one 
will imbue meaningful control.

You say:
But you’ve decided no more
never again will you fall for that
but as I say this 
it dawns on you
that’s just as ineffectual as anything else. 
You think the decisions flee. 
You think. The decisions flee.

I take the pestle back
from you and gesture at the
unscathed heart in the mortar.

I say:
You’re way off-line.

I say:
I’m not thinking that about 
regret and absurdity and 
the marvellous devious things 
we are confronted with when we’re alone.

I say:
Instead I’m thinking about 
how satisfactory I continue 
to find this arrangement 
whereby you go out into the world 
and poke it 
and prod it
and tell it where it hurts 
and laugh in its face
while I go about
my little observations 
and precise manipulations
and then we come back here 
time and time again 
where we find something that helps
it turn around 
and roll over
the very next day.

//ends