At first he tried to pinpoint the precise
time that it materialized, or that he became
conscious of it, since he suspected it was always there,
recessed, praying, cursing, whatever it did
when not creating anarchy.
The problem was that inertia,
ennui, boredom, or whatever you want to call it,
would not be dispersed by motion,
activity, or by resolve. It,
like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction,
would not be ignored.
Today, instead, he would give it
the attention it so craved;
he would not get up and turn on
TV Land or load up Solitaire
on the Mac.
Hello Mr. Boredom, what do you have to say?
If anything?
Well, you’ll be cheered to know,
this story has a happy ending.
“The purpose of my being here, ”
the nagging presence revealed,
“is to jar you from the compulsion
to always be doing, of transposing motion
for emotion. To teach you the difference
between discontent and malcontent.”
Well, la-di-dah.
At that he retreated to the place
where reflection lies,
but promised to return
for another lesson.
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