You Were There And Then You Weren’t There

If you could find it in yourself
to distribute the pamphlets and napkins,
maybe I could snatch some time
between this moment and the next
to do something that I’ve wanted to do forever.

Nothing’s out of bounds, that’s the line
I keep hearing when I hold my ear
close to the near wall. The neighbor
next door practices being peculiar.
Nothing like that is innate, I fear.

Look at me, shedding light on my
personal life and yet still managing
to be evasive. I don’t want you to
know what I do after hours, some
of it may be illegal, but I’m not sure

I’m no lawyer and have never desired
to pursue the law. Too many hours,
too many weasels, too many people
I’d like to . . . I know what you think
about that without even asking. So let

me ask another question. When did it
become actual for you, eh? You know,
the whole thing, the asylum, the motel,
that strip mall where you used to grab
a little breakfast or hit the scruffy hair salon

for a weekly wash. Everything has since
been gutted, painted over, or torn down.
I would have suggested filing a complaint
with the board overseeing this matter
if such a board actually existed.