Iím Probably Wasting My Time and Yours
I waste my time pulling off the black jeans
and putting on the blue jeans.
I waste my time taking off the blue jeans
and pulling on the leggings.
I remove the leggings and replace them
with the black jeans. I waste my time
half listening to news on the radio
while reading news on my phone.
All morning Iím wondering who
was the sputtering man on Today
and what was his point. I waste time
staring from my window, hoping an axe
will relieve my neighbourís tree
of its excess height and give me back
my green-shouldered hills.
I waste time reading emails lauding
hotels Iíll never visit, shoes Iíll never wear,
storage solutions for a slovenly house.
Despite all the time I spend signing petitions,
hospitals fall sicker and sicker, the planet burns,
That Man is still at large, unmodified.
I waste time on educational documentaries,
during which I fall asleep. I waste time
watching Pointless. When I fret about
the stuff I always fret about, you cut across me
with the same frustration I feel
over wasting time. Unbelievable
how much time I waste looking for lost objects,
excavating the many zip-up compartments
of my handbag, attempting to recall the location
of that safe place. There is no safe place,
whatís lost is never coming back, whatís done
cannot be undone. Say something, please.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Chrissy Banks would be pleased to hear them.