Wednesday, February 14, 2007

offbeat poetry

6:45 a.m., bathroom, on a workday.

it was almost beautiful in a way, an exhibition of motion and the dimensions and interactions of separate objects in a fixed space.

a used-up toothpaste tube, all its resources extracted, its purpose as container fully met; its final destination a trashcan, as it should be.

so simple, a casual toss of the tube into the small refuse bin and the cycle would be complete.

but cottony two-ply fate, soft and plush, suspended above the bin, intervened. the tube's flightpath to the bottom of the bin interrupted, the absorbent roll momentarily taking in the energy of the tube's downward force then giving it back in equal and opposite measure.

a new course for the tube now, its rendezvous with other discarded toiletries temporarily stayed. gliding through the air on a new arc, with the poise and precision of a circus acrobat, to the waters of the adjacent toilet.

a perfect dive, expertly moving through the seat's negative space, not once touching the white porcelain, its motion undisturbed, flawless in execution.

gentle splash, then all that remained was the toothpaste tube in water, staring up at me as i stared back down at it and contemplated the strange new task i had not previously imagined would be asked of me in this life.


graceful bobcat said...

i will never look at a tube of toothpaste the same way again.

Steven G. Harms said...

Nor I. Perhaps you can never hear the radio the same way again either?

Andre said...

Did anyone else get an "extended Haiku" feel out of that poem, or was it just me?