Eliot’s Future

Keys in hand, left shoelace undone like so many previous schemes, gripping my jacket at the shoulders trying to get it properly on my thin frame, gotta go, gotta go, rush out lest I be late.  Places to be people to see false purpose.

Passing the crystal ball in my living room.  Almost close to the front door.  Caught an image a flicker of truth in the crystal ball.  Beckoning me.  Sigh.  I’ll be late.  I’m not cool enough to pass off my lateness as fashion.  It just makes me look sloppy like wearing an ill-fitting t-shirt.  I close my eyes to escape the flickering ball but in darkness I see the image repeated.  But…so many buts…I have to go:

Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent

To lead you to an overwhelming question . . .

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”

Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.

For I have known them all already, known them all:–

Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;

I know the voices dying with a dying fall

Beneath the music from a farther room.

So how should I presume?

I don’t consult my watch; I make the decision on my own and know things won’t get done today.  I moonwalk back deeper into the room and face the ball.  The routine is the same except this time the sigh is much heavier literally pulled out from my depths.  I put my hands on the ball, it’s always cool to the touch.  Close my eyes and see:

So here I am in London town,

A better scene I’m gonna be around,

The kind of music that won’t bring me down,

My life is just a slow train crawling up a hill.

So I stop one day to figure it out,

I’ll quit my job without a shadow of a doubt,

To sing the blues that I know about,

My life is just a slow train crawling up a hill.

It’s actually refreshing.  New promises, new whispers.  I nod in agreement.  Bend down to tie up my errant shoelace.

And then I’m out the door, armed with new purpose.


Also published on Medium.

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