Poem of the Day

This morning, I woke up at nine, looked at the time on my phone, told myself, "If you roll over, you will go back to sleep and not wake up until twelve and feel so so upset with yourself," then promptly rolled over and feel asleep. I woke up at twelve with my phone still clutched in my hand and started having a panic attack about all the things I needed to do today, but I was still secretly pleased that I slept in because I had this cool dream that was a mixture of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Power Rangers, Star Wars, and Diana Wynn Jones. There were these evil vampires in it called The Postmen who could come out in daylight, and I kept trying to pummel them to pieces, but it never worked. Violent, but an engaging dream.

Reading this poem while listening to Mozart's Symphony Number 25 in G minor makes it even more amusing to me.

Tension

“Never use the word suddenly just to
create tension.”
—Writing Fiction

Suddenly, you were planting some yellow petunias
outside in the garden,
and suddenly I was in the study
looking up the word oligarchy for the thirty-seventh time.

When suddenly, without warning,
you planted the last petunia in the flat,
and I suddenly closed the dictionary
now that I was reminded of that vile form of governance.

A moment later, we found ourselves
standing suddenly in the kitchen
where you suddenly opened a can of cat food
and I just as suddenly watched you doing that.

I observed a window of leafy activity
and, beyond that, a bird perched on the edge
of the stone birdbath
when suddenly you announced you were leaving

to pick up a few things at the market
and I stunned you by impulsively
pointing out that we were getting low on butter
and another case of wine would not be a bad idea.

Who could tell what the next moment would hold?
Another drip from the faucet?
Another little spasm of the second hand?
Would the painting of a bowl of pears continue

to hang on the wall from that nail?
Would the heavy anthologies remain on their shelves?
Would the stove hold its position?
Suddenly, it was anyone’s guess.

The sun rose ever higher.
The state capitals remained motionless on the wall map
when suddenly I found myself lying on a couch
where I closed my eyes and without any warning

began to picture the Andes, of all places,
and a path that led over the mountain to another country
with strange customs and eye-catching hats
suddenly fringed with little colorful, dangling balls.

-Billy Collins