Between Interruptions
July 10 2008


Life goes on
between interruptions.
Then you squeeze in what you can
in those brief moments of freedom
— late at night
when the house is still
the chores all done.

Or perhaps, it’s the other way around —
you follow your passion
until life drags you back,
interrupting what you live for.

You wish it worked the way your body does,
pumping blood
processing air
making the necessary repairs,
leaving you free to attend
to life’s higher calling.
Like a household of well-mannered servants
neither seen nor heard;
while you soak in the tub,
or make love
in the master-bedroom.

You get old soon enough,
time measured-out in diapers
and pay cheques
and new car loans.
So you let nothing interrupt —
with the phone unplugged and the door bolted,
you’re free
to practice the bagpipes,
or read steamy novels,
or write that poem.

Or interrupt yourself,
announcing a trip to the corner store.
Then decide to walk,
and take the long way home.