I have a use for you…
and if there was no use
would I still be here?
Or would I be in storage,
with the other bits and pieces of an optional life?
A decoration waiting for the right season,
waiting for my turn in line,
my number called.
Of what use can I be to myself,
without a plan,
without an assignment?
The bargaining was made for me,
it’s history written in
manly chuckles and spit and a hearty handshake,
while I waited,
kept my usual place,
my face to the wall.
I have not been the architect of my own building,
have only visited the basement,
peered out the murky flyspecked windows.
I have startled my second self
by started to wonder
what use I may have for myself.