• HOME

  • CURRENT ISSUE

  • ARCHIVED ISSUES

  • ABOUT

  • CONTACT

  • More

    Under a Wrong Constellation

     

    by Mark Danowsky

    ​

     

    The dog is limping. Favoring his left hind leg; moreover, a display

    of lameness in the right.

     

    One of my bosses texts me after 8pm. Maybe he remembers I am

    back from my trip. In any case, he wants my time. I have returned

    from the trip sick. And the dog is unwell. And sadly it feels like

    these are not the worst of my troubles.

     

    I owe everyone I can think of something.

     

    I’m supposed to move and find work back where I probably never

    should have left.

     

    Technically I make decisions. I was just reading about learned

    helplessness and, although I have thought of “learned” in the

    context of behavior or scholarly accomplishment in times past—it

    seems to have found its current comfort.

     

    Turns out the thoughts that pop / into the foreground of your mind /

    are not necessarily those of most value / are not necessarily those

    deserving of equal weight.

     

    I hate that I accumulate things. I hate that I cannot get rid of them

    once I have them. I hate myself for letting myself choose against

    my intentions. This is not the paradox of choice. This is a paradox

    of the ununified/irreconcilable self.

     

    The dog has fallen asleep and is quietly yelping in dream. It feels

    important to note his legs are not kicking. Sometimes they kick.

    They certainly used to.

    Previous
    Next Poem

    Copyright © 2018 Kettle Blue Review

    • Facebook Clean
    • Twitter Clean