Poetry Fix

The Pur­pose of Time is to Pre­vent Every­thing from Hap­pen­ing at Once
by X.J. Kennedy, from The Lords of Misrule.

Sup­pose your life a fold­ed telescope
Dura­tion­less, col­lapsed in just a flash
As from your moth­er’s womb you, bawl­ing, drop
Into a nurs­ing home. Sup­pose you crash
Your car, your marriage–toddler lay­ing waste
A field of daisies, schoolkid, zit-faced teen
With lover zip­ping up your pants in haste
Hear­ing your par­ents’ tread downstairs–all one.

Ein­stein was right. That would be too intense.
You need a chance to preen, to give a dull
Recital before an indif­fer­ent audience
Equal­ly slow in jeer­ing you and clapping.
Time takes its time unrav­el­ing. But, still,
You’ll won­der when your life ends: Huh? What happened?