Boredom steadies the numbness
Stoic is my surrogate alter ego, although I wish I was Batman
Making all sorts of gadgets appear in the bat mobile.
I drive a Suzuki Swift, so unlike the bird and yet
A little like a namesake author’s work – My driving resembles
A Pinta Island Tortoise, although Gulliver
Beckons a comparison. After all,
6 feet 4 inches, for a Sri Lankan man
Is a borderline Guinness book entry.
I look out at the world around me
Boxed to my boxer shorts world, lying in bed
Next to my wife, after making love.
Seemingly the roof gets nearer when I stare,
And the walls shrink towards me,
I’m in a box, and I’m searching madly for Jack
To make my day.
Its’s been Yonkers since I’ve watched the news
Or watched reruns of an American sitcom
I now juggle three things on my palms
– Wife, science and poetry –
And although wife comes miles ahead,
After making love in quick time,
You’re searching for a minor distraction.
I take a toothpick and start fumbling with
My teeth. I almost became a dentist once
And I wonder how I would have been
As a toothpick man. [Perhaps there are
More raunchy uses for a Dental Chair]
Still I stumble on in thought at the austerity
Measures of my flinching economy.
And all I can think of is; Perhaps 40 is supposed to be,
The calming tide. My locks, now almost
30% grey, makes me as distinguished
As Richard Gere, although a glimpse at my reflection
And I know it is only wishful thinking.
And life is that. A story with many beginnings
And endings. Perhaps I was never meant to be
A dentist, nor meant to be handsome
Perhaps I am just a boring middle-aged man
In a spineless odyssey to break my own boredom.
Perhaps I should try kite surfing or order
Something other than a green curry at the
Thai restaurant. Perhaps my wife will give me
A full blow job in the shower.
And still, I’m too scared to change anything.
Too petrified of leaving my own box.
[Jack will have to wait]. I’m claustrophobic
Of my own traditions, my comfort zones.
My little attic where I perch my laptop
And type away words.
I am my own opus. Livid
At my own surrender, of that necessity
To be at the same place every passing day.
And still, how tasteful is the green curry at Quick Thai?
How underrated is a hand job in the shower?
How endearing is the kite in your palm?
And how beautiful are my Groundhog days?