Not Today

His mouth was so dry,

he would not have been able

to lick and seal an envelope

if he still lived in a world

of envelopes and stamps and

rotary dial phones.

Sitting alone in the desert,

a feeble wind stirred the dust

around his feet

with slow deliberation, searching

for any crack or chink in his skin

that might let in the elements

to erode him from the inside out

like the rusted carcass of the car,

with its sun-bleached paint

sitting nearby, chipped and blistered,

looking for all the world like

the tattered remains of his heart

or the pocked and pitted lining

of his very soul, oh

the dreadful condition of his being.

This is where he came to think

and process the whirlwind of

his daily life, lived in a state

of awe and wonder, but

not the good kind.

At some now forgotten, but pivotal point

something had changed, though

he could not quite

place his finger on it.

This is where he came to

make his decisions

when things got out of hand;

when the world closed in

too tight, leaving no breathing space.

With life clenched around his chest,

causing him to gasp.

No one could see or hear

his struggle. Here

he was alone and

he often imagined that

one day he might decide

to sit in that desert forevermore.

But not today. No,

not today.