Bowling for Fish

A dream of bowling?
Is that what’s going on?
What else could it be?
Why would I ever just happen
to come into a bowling alley?

What shoes are on my feet?
What shirt lays upon my shoulders?
What heinous transport delivered me
to this profane palace?
Place? Palace? Palazzo?
Where the hell am I?

It is not inconceivable
that I could appear in an alley ironically
but I remember no such decision.
What twisted logic could make me arrive here
and, apparently, enthusiastically?
What makes such a thing occur?
What drives me
to do half the things I do?

Who controls my fate
like the bumper rails
in this lane of life?
Who keeps tabs on my score
and maintains order?
Who’s buying the drinks?

So many questions.
On answers?
I’m striking out.

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